


Cut Shot with Backspin

by chapelwaite



Category: 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: "This Whole Thing Smacks of Halman" I Holler as I Overturn Arthur C Clarke's Barbeque Grill, Alternate Universe - Canon, Bisexual Male Character, Connected across Space and Time, Crossover, Data Experiences a Microaggression, Dave Almost Breaks the Replicator, Dave Gets Rikered, Dave Takes an Unplanned Detour into the 24th Century, Dave's Molecules Hate This Universe, Gen, Lester's Fixins Sponsor Me Please, M/M, Mysterious Energy Nonsense, Pretty Much a Halman Fic with the Enterprise as a Backdrop, Swooning, The Monolith is Malevolent, Wormhole, mild telepathy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24364888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chapelwaite/pseuds/chapelwaite
Summary: Dave was sent through the monolith to go somewhere. Where exactly, he couldn't know. But he was almost certain the destination was not supposed to be the Federation Starship Enterprise.And yet, here he was. But something-- or someone-- was missing.(Knowledge of 2001 is not required to read this fic - the main plot points are outlined within this work. That also means spoiler warning for 2001.)
Relationships: David Bowman/HAL 9000
Comments: 25
Kudos: 53





	1. Cosmic String Unraveled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the monolith sends Dave across time, space, and reality, and spits him out right in the Enterprise's path.

“Commander,” said Lt. Cmdr. Data from his position at ops, “sensors indicate a sudden energy reading in space. Bearing 062-mark-287.”

Commander Riker squinted from the captain’s chair. “Can you be more specific, Data?”

“I cannot, sir. It does not correspond to any known energy patterns.”

Riker glanced at Counselor Troi. “It’s always the unknown energies,” he said with a quirk of his eyebrow. She met his glance and smiled briefly, but her smile faded as she looked back at the viewscreen.

“What _can_ you tell me about it?” asked Riker.

“It appears to be emanating from a fixed point in space, but there does not appear to be a physical source,” said Data. He paused and furrowed his brow. “It is coming from an area that is… perfectly rectangular in shape.”

Riker frowned and stood up. “Perfectly rectangular?” he asked, approaching the ops station.

“The dimensions of the area are in a ratio of 1 to 4 to 9,” Data said. “It appears to be aligned vertically.”

“Put a visual of the area onscreen.”

The viewscreen switched to show what appeared to be an empty patch of space.

Riker narrowed his eyes. “Looks like nothing’s there,” he said. “Is it a--?”

Before he could ask if it was a sensor malfunction, a star in his field of vision seemed to vanish. His eyes widened.

“From our position, the stars are moving _behind_ the source of the energy,” Data explained. “The source itself is not moving or changing. It appears totally inert.”

“Knowing our luck, it probably won’t be _inert_ for very long,” Riker said. He tapped his communicator badge. “Riker to Picard.”

_“--Go ahead, Number One.”_

“We’re detecting an unknown energy in the surrounding area. It’s perfectly rectangular, but without a physical source,” Riker said, and waited.

_“--Acknowledged. I’m on my way.”_

***

By the time Captain Picard arrived on the bridge, Data had configured the viewscreen to show a digital outline around the energy pattern. A thin blue line separated a rectangular patch of void from the normal space around it.

“Did this energy reading simply… _appear_ in space?” Picard asked, looking at the unusual patch.

“Yes, sir,” said Data. “One moment the sensors picked up nothing unusual, and then--”

Before he could finish, a white object shot out from the void directly towards the Enterprise, triggering automatic yellow alert.

“Keep the viewscreen trained on that object,” Picard ordered, sitting in the captain’s chair.

The viewscreen switched to track it. The object was roughly spherical, and mostly white with symmetrical black areas on either side. It had two multi-jointed arms on either side of what appeared to be the front face, with a small window in between.

“This design is of no known make or origin, Captain,” Data said. “It appears to have originated from the energy source.”

“Mr. Worf?” Picard asked.

Lieutenant Worf entered commands at his station. “The object has no weapons and…” He looked up. “No shields.”

“Sensors indicate the vessel does not have the capacity for shields, sir,” Data said. He looked at the viewscreen and tilted his head slightly. “Curious.”

Picard frowned and tugged downwards on his uniform shirt. “Open a hailing frequency,” he said.

Worf did so. “Vessel is not responding to our hail,” he said. He looked more closely at his panel. “Correction. It did not receive the signal.”

Picard and Riker looked at each other.

“That’s odd,” Picard murmured.

“No weapons, no shields, can’t receive our hail?” Riker said. “Is anyone aboard?”

“One life sign, Commander,” Data responded.

Picard looked over at Troi. “Counselor?”

She looked out at the viewscreen, which showed the spherical vessel still barreling through space. Her brow furrowed. “It’s difficult to get a reading, Captain. Whoever it is, they’re close to unconsciousness, but… I’m getting the sense of being totally overwhelmed.”

Picard stood up. “Have Chief O’Brien prepare to transport the occupant to Transporter Room 5, and bring the vessel into Shuttle Bay 4 after it has been vacated.”

Data prepared a tractor beam. “Tractor beam locked on successfully,” he said.

"Ensign Crusher, full stop. Hold this position."

"Aye, sir," said Wesley, bringing the _Enterprise_ to a stop in front of the energy field.

The captain nodded to Riker and Worf, who both moved to accompany him to the transporter room. “Mr. Data, you have the bridge,” Picard said.

“Riker to sickbay,” the commander said, stepping into the turbolift. “Doctor Crusher, meet us at Transporter Room 5.”

_“--On my way, Commander.”_

“Let’s see what this is all about,” said the captain as the doors closed.

***

“Strange,” said O’Brien. “It’s human, but… everything is just a little bit outside the normal parameters energy-wise.” He watched his display panel. “It’s stabilizing now. I’ll account for fluctuations when transporting.”

Worf shifted his stance. “Recommend caution, Captain.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Picard said. “An energy fluctuation is not necessarily indicative of hostility.”

Doctor Crusher stepped into the transporter room with a medical kit. She nodded to the captain before turning her attention to the transporter pad.

“Energize,” Picard said.

A humanoid figure slowly materialized in front of them. As it came into focus, the crewmen saw that the figure was wearing a bright red space suit with a tapered helmet. It resembled 20th century space suits more than anything else. Buttons and hoses covered the front of the suit in a configuration that none of them had ever seen before.

The figure’s eyes could be seen through the helmet’s window. They were terrified.

After just a moment, the figure in the space suit fell, limp, to the floor.

***

Color. Such color outside. Inside, electronic hum. A world inside the pod of quiet sounds and flashes, buttons winking frantically. Hum and turbulence. The pod in freefall, a leaf on a cosmic wind. Outside-- a world that was not a world. A world of inverted gravity and impossible geometry, shapes turning and tumbling, colliding and reforming. All the _colors!_ More than he’d ever thought possible in one place! So many that he could see, and so many more that he felt passing through him.

Light was streaming viciously into the porthole. All of the flashing screens and buttons were doused with flickering kaleidoscope light. The light tore along dotted lines and reformed to flash and merge into entirely new colors. He’d closed his eyes more than once, but it was hopeless. The light filled his vision as if he had no eyelids at all.

Space was twisting around him. Raw, unfiltered universe. One by one, each system in his pod went silent, leaving him alone with his breathing. Was he really alive? It was impossible to tell. He could control nothing. Total helplessness, at the mercy of the color and the light.

Such was the monolith.

He tried to grasp at anything. It was as though the light was trying to wipe him clean. _Discovery-- Jupiter, Saturn-- Hal--_

Suddenly all the light seemed to bend away, partially blocked out. He watched as a black rectangle ( _another monolith?_ ) grew larger in front of the pod. He could see nothing beyond. He would crash--!

His hands flew to cover his helmeted face--

The light vanished--

…

He slowly lowered his hands. The light was gone. In its place were normal stars.

_What--?_

His heartbeat smashed its way into his awareness, so rapid and strong that it hurt. He leaned forward to see more outside the porthole. His eyes widened, his face went slack.

Looming above the pod, rapidly growing larger in his field of vision, was an absolutely enormous spacecraft. Five times the length of the _Discovery_ , it gleamed silver, glowing red and blue in different places. Windows winked all around the saucer that yawned above him. The cylinders on either side pulsed with visible energy. The power, the sheer scope of it--

He sat back, breathing hard. He had only gotten a glimpse, but that was enough. It felt like spikes were piercing his stomach at odd intervals. Of all the times to unravel--!

The pod slowed, suddenly but gently, as a blue glow engulfed it. Although he was no longer leaning forward, the pod’s trajectory meant that he could see the glow emanating from the bottom of the strange craft. He came to a stop, held in the beam.

For several moments, all was still and silent. Then, all at once, he began to dissolve.

His vision faded entirely, but as the sensation ebbed his sight returned. His feet were on solid ground now, and he was standing-- on a glowing platform in a well-lit room. A few feet away, several figures watched him reform. They were wearing some kind of uniform… black, with primary colors. One of them wore a blue laboratory coat. Another had a forehead that seemed to be…

_The colors. The light._

Somehow it was all too much. Something inside him came undone. In the clean, well-lighted room, Dave Bowman was unconscious before he hit the floor.

***

“Crusher to sickbay, medical emergency, I need a stretcher in Transporter Room 5,” the doctor said into her communicator badge, kneeling down beside the unconscious figure and pulling out her tricorder. “The transporter may have caused some kind of shock,” she continued. “I don’t want to risk another one.” She began to examine the helmet, trying to figure out how to remove it--and if she should.

“Some kind of malfunction?” Picard asked, wheeling to face O’Brien.

“No, sir,” O’Brien said quickly, “I was able to compensate for the unusual fluctuations. Should be all there.” The captain nodded briskly.

Riker peered through the helmet’s visor. Whoever it was appeared to be a human male, with a rounded nose and a strong brow. He appeared troubled even while unconscious.

“Is the suit keeping him alive?” Riker asked.

Dr. Crusher shook her head, passing her hand scanner across the figure’s chest. “He’s human… The air inside the suit is the same kind of air that we’re breathing,” she murmured. “Looks like it’s modeled after early Earth spacesuits.”

She stood up as the medical team came through the doorway. They quickly but gently moved the unconscious man onto the stretcher, careful not to jostle any of his equipment.

Picard watched them leave, then turned to the remaining senior officers. “Mr. Worf, establish minimal security in sickbay, have them alert me when he regains consciousness,” he said. “Commander Riker, meet Mr. LaForge and an engineering team in Shuttle Bay 4 to inspect the vessel. We’ll reconvene in the observation lounge after our guest wakes up. Dismissed.”

The officers scattered to their assignments.

***

The first thing Dave became aware of was a pervasive rumble. It surrounded his body, covering him like a blanket. It was comforting, familiar. It conjured up old memories. He was on a ship, laying in his bed in an aft cabin, slowly waking up from a very deep nap, the kind of nap that leaves you fuzzy for hours. He knew that sound anywhere, the sound of a ship’s engine. Curious, though… no rocking.

Wait--

Dave jolted to a sitting position, his heart rate spiking. Someone appeared at his side instantly-- the one in the blue coat from the well-lit room. “Hey, it’s alright. Relax,” she said, placing a hand on his (uncovered?) arm. He relaxed a little as soon as he heard her voice, and slowly lay back down.

The doctor pulled out a small device that emitted a fluttering noise as she passed it over his chest. Dave looked at her for several seconds. She had red, shoulder-length hair that curled gently, and a kind, narrow face. His heart slowly calmed.

“Who are you?” he asked, barely above a whisper. His voice felt shot. Had he been screaming?

The doctor pulled her device away and faced him. “I’m your doctor,” she said with a smile. “My name is Beverly Crusher. You’re aboard the _Enterprise._ ”

Dave closed his eyes. “I came from _Discovery,_ ” he murmured.

He felt Doctor Crusher shift beside him. “The _Discovery?_ ” she repeated. Dave heard her effort to keep her tone from being too incredulous.

“What did you do to me?” Dave said.

The doctor didn’t respond immediately. He opened his eyes to see her concerned expression. “You… I injected you with something to help your body process the excess cortisol from your stress response--”

“I was in my pod, and then I wasn’t,” he said slowly. Now that the wave of panic had passed, his whole body felt like dead weight. It was getting harder to form sentences. “I’ve never seen… don’t know how…”

Doctor Crusher stood over him, checking her tricorder as he went quiet. She injected him with something to keep him conscious, drew the medical blanket over his chest, and tapped her communicator. “Crusher to bridge,” she said.

_“--What is it, Doctor?”_

“Captain, you’d better get down here,” she said. “Our patient is awake. He says he’s from the _Discovery._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-credits scene! Dramatic fainting! You love to see it.
> 
> Dave's all fucked up Spiderverse-style. He is Not supposed to be here. We'll just have to see how badly it affects him.


	2. Acclimation to Vertigo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dave meets Picard, and realizes that this future may not be his own.

Dave sat on the edge of his bed. Whatever the doctor had given him was definitely reducing his exhaustion, slowly but surely. He still felt a little fuzzy... _Relax. It’s probably just a side effect of whatever she gave you._ He tried to keep his breathing regular.

He took in his surroundings while waiting for the captain to arrive. His bed was positioned in the center of a room lined with other similar beds, most of which were vacant. From where he was sitting, he faced a giant medical chart that seemed to be attuned to his vital signs. To the left of the chart, a little ways away, was some sort of sliding door. To the right was another room blocked off by another door, this one glass. Dave looked down at his feet to study his socks. He’d been stripped of his spacesuit and _Discovery_ uniform, and was now dressed in a short-sleeve powder-blue jumpsuit. He looked back up as the doctor came back from the other room, holding a gray device in her left hand.

“Can I ask where you put my clothes?”

Doctor Crusher smiled as she waved a small, humming cylinder over him with her right hand, looking at her handheld device as she did so. “I had them cleaned and placed in one of the guest quarters. Once you’re completely fine, you’re free to go there.” Her expression became somewhat apologetic. “Are you up for answering some questions from the captain?”

Dave nodded, looking away briefly. “I think so,” he said.

At that moment, the door to the left split down the middle with a gentle pneumatic hiss. A man walked in, followed by a woman. The man looked very serious; he had an unmistakable air of authority. Dave recognized him as one of the figures from the well-lit room. The woman following him was unfamiliar, but she looked concerned, genuinely so-- and her pupils were entirely black. Before Dave could fully register this, they stopped in front of him.

“I’m Captain Jean-Luc Picard,” the man said. Despite his French name, the man had an British accent. “This is Counselor Deanna Troi. How are you feeling?”

“Captain,” Dave said with a quick smile. He nodded at the counselor and reached out to shake the captain’s hand. His tight grip was reassuring. “I feel alright,” he continued. “I’m better than I was.”

“Doctor Crusher tells me you’re from the _Discovery?_ ” said Captain Picard with a slight frown.

“Yes,” Dave said. “I, um. I was the mission commander, I… I’m Doctor David Bowman. From the Jupiter mission.” There was no reaction, and a queasy feeling bubbled up in Dave’s stomach. He continued quickly. “I’m, I don’t know if you know about it-- They kept it under pretty tight wraps, even _I_ didn’t know what--"

The captain put up a hand to stop him. “When was this?” he asked quietly.

Dave looked at all three of them. “2001,” he said.

Immediately, something shifted in the room. Counselor Troi stiffened, and though the captain’s facial expression didn’t change, his eyes betrayed his shock and disbelief.

“Excuse us for a moment,” Captain Picard said. He, the counselor, and Doctor Crusher moved into the room with the glass door, leaving Dave alone with his confusion.

***

As soon as they were out of earshot, Troi said, “He believes he is telling the truth, Captain.”

“That may be, but he isn't making much sense,” the captain said. “The _Discovery_ wasn't active until the 23rd century. Counselor, was there any evidence of mental _tampering,_ or some kind of… _block_ in place?”

“I didn’t sense anything like that,” she answered. “He really believes what he says. Moreover, he’s extremely confused. None of this is familiar to him at all. Our not recognizing him or his name made him very anxious.”

“There’s no brain damage,” Doctor Crusher added. “As far as I can tell he’s perfectly healthy.” She paused.

The captain noticed. “But?”

The doctor shook her head. “It’s very strange,” she said. “But all of his life signs seem to be--” she grasped for a word “-- _flickering_ in and out _._ I’ve noticed it happen four or five times so far. Very briefly, his heartbeat will stop registering, or his breathing won’t be picked up. It’s as if, just for a moment, there isn’t anyone there at all.”

“I felt something similar about his brain patterns,” Troi added. “I can read him clearly most of the time, but… it’s as if there’s some kind of interference. There _isn’t_ any outside interference,” she clarified, “he just… drops out, for a split second.”

Picard slowly folded his arms. “Chief O’Brien mentioned something strange about his transporter pattern,” he mused. “Could this… _flickering_ be a side effect of the wormhole?”

“Possibly,” Doctor Crusher said, “but it’s not like any side effect _I’ve_ ever seen.”

The captain exhaled through his nose. He let his arms fall to his sides. “Well,” he said slowly, “if he believes he is telling the truth, and if there is no evidence to suggest that he _isn’t…_ ”

All three of them exchanged glances.

“He said he was on ‘the Jupiter mission,’ as if we would know what that meant,” said Doctor Crusher. She chuckled uneasily. “You’d think we would know something about that if it’s so important.”

“Perhaps it was a _different_ _Discovery_ than the Federation ship," said Captain Picard, raising his eyebrows. "Even with that in mind, at the turn of the 20th century, mankind was more concerned with sending out unmanned probes than manned missions. _Especially_ around the year 2001. After recovering from the eugenics wars, the planet was on the brink of nuclear disaster.”

“What about the _SS Botany Bay?_ ” Doctor Crusher asked.

“Dr. Bowman does not have any sense of superiority that I would expect from a genetically advanced human of that time period,” Troi said.

They all paused. The doctor asked, “ _Could_ he have come from our past? Has his arrival… altered the course of history?”

Captain Picard considered this for several seconds before shaking his head. “We have no way of knowing for certain,” he said, “but somehow I doubt it. It would be best if we could find out more from him, if we can.”

Troi and Crusher nodded, and the three of them went back into the main room.

***

Dave was looking at his socks again, trying to fight his mental fog and process everything. He wasn’t sure at all what the monolith could do, but he knew it must have the ability to manipulate space and time. He wasn’t near Jupiter anymore, that much was definite; the monolith spit him out at a different point in space. And obviously he’d gone forward in time, if space travel had progressed as much as it appeared to. But if he’d been sent into the future, how had these people _never_ heard of him? If they were still in space, surely his mission had an impact. Had all records of it been sealed away? Or had they been destroyed?

He heard the glass door’s pneumatic hiss and looked up.

“Dr. Bowman,” said Captain Picard. “Thank you for your patience. Would you mind telling us more about your mission?”

Dave felt another spike of panic. He was suddenly grasped with the urge to prove his own existence. The trio in front of him waited expectantly.

“I don’t--” _Oops._ That was louder than he intended it to be. He inhaled deeply and tried again.

“I don’t know everything,” he said more quietly. “They hid the true objective from the entire crew. I only found out what we were _really_ doing after-- um--” He closed his eyes and gripped the edge of the table. Remembering what he did to Hal seemed to set him off-balance.

“After what?” the captain asked.

Dave shook his head slightly. Sensing his discomfort, the captain switched topics.

“How many people were aboard?”

“Five people,” Dave said, eyes still closed. “Three of us were in suspended animation for the journey out to Jupiter. It took us a few months to get out there. Frank and I were going to wake them up once we arrived, and then we’d do our job and Hal would put us back under for the return trip.”

There was a brief pause. “You said there were five of you. Who is Hal?” the captain asked.

“He was the computer.”

No response.

“The _computer_ ,” Dave repeated, opening his eyes and staring straight at Picard. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the 9000 units.”

The captain maintained eye contact, though he was obviously troubled. “I’m sorry, Dr. Bowman, I haven’t.”

Dave lapsed into brief silence, clenching and unclenching his jaw. His heartbeat quickened. “Do you have records?”

“The ship’s computer stores all of our records,” the doctor said. “Just address it first.”

Dave almost laughed. Finally _something_ was familiar. “What’s its name?” He was met with confused silence, and here he did laugh quietly. “Never mind…”

He stood up from his bed and approached the wall which showed his vital signs. “Computer?” he said. A soft electronic tone came in response as the computer awaited his inquiry. “Pull up all available information on the 9000 unit supercomputers.”

A processing tone, then a soft error sound. An even-toned female voice said, “ _There are no records of any such entities.”_

Dave blinked. “Um. Computer… give me information about TMA-1.”

The same series of sounds. The same voice message.

“Computer, tell me about Dave Bowman,” he said.

The computer said the same thing a third time.

_Oh, God._ He braced himself against the wall and put up a hand to stop the approaching doctor.

“Computer. When was the most recent manned mission into space?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice level.

This time there were no error sounds. _“Exploration missions across the galaxy are ongoing. There are currently 12,386 Federation ships in service.”_

“Twelve thousand,” Dave repeated, astonished. “The _galaxy?_ I-- What-- What _year_ is it?”

_“The current Stardate is 41223.6, Earth year 2367.”_

2367\. The room tilted and spun sickly. Dave felt his legs give out as he became top-heavy. A pair of strong hands caught him before he could fall.

“Easy,” the doctor said, supporting him on the short way back to his hospital bed. He fought the vertigo and managed to sit back down with her help. He covered his face with his hands.

Captain Picard began, “Dr. Bowman--”

“Dave,” he corrected, his voice muffled.

“Dave,” the captain said gently. “We have access to _every_ Earth record that was once considered confidential before the foundation of Starfleet. I assure you, if there existed _any_ information at all about your mission, you would have been able to access it. If the records were sealed behind an access code, the computer would have said so, and I could have opened them.”

Dave sat there listening, trying to calm his racing heart.

“Furthermore, if there were records of _you,_ we would have them,” Picard continued. “Even if your mission were scrubbed, there would be references to you, a brief overview of your life--”

“I don’t understand,” Dave said quietly. “This is the future, I existed in the past, so how can it not-- how-- why do I not exist?"

The captain stepped closer to Dave and lowered his voice slightly. “Dave,” he said. “I do not think you are lying.”

Dave quickly looked up at the captain.

“And,” Picard said, “I do _not_ think you are insane, either. I believe… that you came through that wormhole… from wherever you were before.” He paused, trying to find the right words. “I think that… you came from… a different past than ours. The wormhole you came out of must have had _something_ to do with it. We may not yet know how it happened, but you are here now, and…” He put a hand on Dave’s shoulder. “We will help you acclimate, Dave, if you wish.”

Dave nodded and blinked rapidly. His eyes ached, and he didn’t want to cry in front of Picard. He cleared his throat and said, “I have to process everything.”

“Of course,” Captain Picard said. “When you’re ready to speak again, inform Doctor Crusher. I and the other superior officers will meet with you to discuss everything.” He let go of Dave’s shoulder and nodded at the doctor. Picard and Troi took their leave through the pneumatic door, which opened at their approach and closed softly behind them.

Dave inhaled deeply, then exhaled through his nose. Doctor Crusher placed a hand on his arm.

“I’ll be here when you’re ready to move around again,” she said before stepping away.

He slowly lay back down, pulling the shiny silver blanket up around him. He stared at the ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes. So much had changed in 300 years… Apparently, even the universe itself had changed. All these people had was his own testimony about the way things had been.

Dave sighed, and let the sound of the ship’s engine-- a rumble that was equal parts comforting and painful-- wash over him once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, Dave is a staticky radio!
> 
> You know how in "Yesterday's Enterprise" they don't remember any of the time stuff that happened? Trying to write about that kind of thing was harder than you might think.  
> I may have lowballed the number of Federation ships, but who cares? (Not me.)  
> The Eugenics Wars still takes place in the late 90s despite any retcons.  
> Also, Star Trek Discovery doesn't exist. The way I wrote it, Discovery *was* one of the earliest starships, hence their confusion. but the stuff about it being scrubbed from the records isn't a thing. It's my fanfiction and I get to choose the canon.


	3. Among the Phaeacians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, after much speculation, Dave explains himself.

Troi and Picard were silent the whole way to the turbolift, both of them independently thinking over what just happened. Only after they were en route to the bridge did Troi say something.

“I know you’re still very uncertain of the situation, Captain, but your belief in Dave did help him. Everything is unfamiliar to him.” She nodded for emphasis. _“Everything.”_

Picard raised his eyebrows. “Well, he is from the very beginning of the 21st century,” he said, smiling slightly. “Whether he’s from our timeline or not, I would expect some confusion. Much has changed since the year 2001.”

Troi gave a faint smile. “I get the sense that he is usually not so… anxiety-prone,” she said. “His own emotions are confusing him on top of everything else, which is making things even more difficult.”

Picard hummed thoughtfully. “Do you have any reason to believe that he will lash out?”

“No,” the counselor said firmly. “He is actively fighting against his panic. He _wants_ to be reasonable, it’s just that everything is so confusing for him. I believe that, once he understands more about his surroundings, he will be able to regain his footing.”

The captain nodded. “Thank you, Counselor.”

The turbolift doors opened, and they stepped onto the bridge. “Status report,” the captain said, striding towards the ops and conn stations.

“No change in the energy patch, Captain,” said Ensign Crusher, swiveling his chair around. “All the numbers have remained _precisely_ the same since it appeared.”

Data chimed in. “This would suggest that it may not be a traditional wormhole, despite the vessel’s appearance from inside of it. Wormholes of this size are often extremely unstable. One of this size and stability has never been documented in Starfleet records.” He paused. “This would also be the first _rectangular_ wormhole, sir.”

Captain Picard studied the patch of energy on the screen. The blue outline was still displayed around the patch, which was pitch black and reflected no light. There was no variance whatsoever. It looked as if someone had drawn a perfect rectangle across the middle of the viewscreen.

“Mr. Data,” Picard said, “launch a probe into the middle of the… portal.”

Data did so. “Probe launched, sir. All systems responding.”

They watched as the probe approached the rectangular patch, crossed the threshold-- and vanished.

Data looked at his station’s screen and furrowed his brow. “Captain… I am no longer receiving information from the probe.” Picard looked at Data in astonishment as the android continued. “It continued transmitting for 1.27 seconds before communication was lost. It recorded extremely high levels of light on both the visible and invisible spectrum. High levels of electromagnetic radiation and x-rays. Other indicators showed no change… possibly suggesting the inside of the portal is otherwise similar to deep space.”

Wesley frowned at the viewscreen. “If there’s so much light in there, why can’t we see it?”

“There is not yet enough information for me to speculate,” said Data, “but I admit, it confuses me as well.”

Picard stood in thought, watching what may as well have been a static image. “Continue monitoring the portal’s energy levels,” he said. “Notify me of any change.” He tapped his comm badge. “Picard to Commander Riker.”

_“--Riker here.”_

“How’s the inspection going?”

_“--We’ve looked at as much of the pod as we could, Captain. No identifying markers, although the labels are printed in what appears to be 21 st century English. There isn’t much I can tell you right now, but I will say that we’ve got some very unusual stuff on our hands.”_

“Understood,” the captain said. “Go with Mr. LaForge to my ready room when you have an initial report.”

_“--Acknowledged.”_

***

“That thing has no warp drive capability, _no_ phaser banks, and no _shields,”_ said Chief Engineer LaForge incredulously. “I don’t know _how_ it could have been going as fast as it was when it came out of that wormhole.”

“We haven’t been able to power it up,” Commander Riker said. “There’s a possibility that its travel through the wormhole damaged the systems.”

“Right,” Geordi acknowledged, “but just by looking at it, you can tell it has next to no equipment, not even anything you’d see on a… transportation shuttle. And it doesn’t seem to be an escape pod… no resources aboard.”

Captain Picard exhaled through his nose. “Commander, Lieutenant,” he said, “the vessel’s occupant regained consciousness about half an hour ago. He says that he is from the _Discovery’s_ Jupiter mission _…”_

Riker and Geordi straightened up in their chairs.

“…and that he comes from the year 2001.”

They both stared at Picard in disbelief.

“I have already spoken with Counselor Troi and Doctor Crusher,” the captain continued. “He is not intentionally being deceitful, nor is there any detectable mental alteration in place. We can only assume that he is telling the truth.”

“But… sir, that’s not possible,” Geordi said. “The _Discovery_ wasn’t active until the 23rd century. There _was_ no… Jupiter mission.”

“Indeed,” Picard said, raising his eyebrows. “He did not claim to be from a _Federation_ starship.”

Riker’s forehead creased in confusion. “Even if he time-traveled, there are no records of pre-warp starships with that name.”

“There are also no records of a Doctor David Bowman,” the captain replied, “but that is what our guest calls himself.”

Riker leaned forward. “Are we sure he’s human? Perhaps he intentionally used the wormhole to travel across space.”

Picard looked at Riker in surprise. Geordi raised his eyebrows and tilted his head as if to say, _Maybe he’s got a point._

“I understand your concern, Commander, but both the ship’s computer _and_ Counselor Troi register him as human,” Picard said. “He has been in extreme distress since he regained consciousness. These factors together do not indicate that he is anything other than a terrified man attempting to make sense of his situation.”

Riker seemed to begrudgingly accept this, though clearly he still had his doubts.

“If he really _is_ from the early 21st century,” Geordi said slowly, “that _would_ explain why the pod has such… archaic technology.”

“Could he really have come from our past?” Riker asked. “Did his appearance here… _change_ something? Make it so we wouldn’t know anything about him or his ship?”

“As Dr. Crusher, Counselor Troi, and myself have discussed, we cannot know that for certain,” the captain replied. “He asked the computer about several terms, including his own name, and there were no results whatsoever. This _could_ indicate that his arrival has changed the course of history, or it could indicate that he is from… a different past entirely. But,” he added quickly, “he has agreed to speak with us further. Soon we will have more answers, one way or another.”

Riker and Geordi exchanged glances, then nodded.

“That will be all. Be ready to attend a meeting in the observation lounge within the hour.”

The two senior officers returned to the bridge. Picard swiveled his personal computer to a more accessible angle, and began combing through the ship’s records. As he made search after search, it only confirmed what he already knew.

There were no records of a pre-warp _Discovery,_ the 9000 unit computers, or anything else Dr. Bowman spoke of in the sickbay-- including himself.

***

Dave didn’t know what he’d expected the bridge to look like, but what he saw didn’t look like anything he’d ever seen. He only got a quick look at the place--inoffensive beige, flat workstation panels, a gently sloping floor--before his attention was drawn to the huge visual display at the front of the room. He walked slowly towards the screen, leaving Doctor Crusher standing in the back of the room. A field of stars hung in front of him, and in the middle of the view…

Dave stopped between the two stations in front of the display. _Hello out there,_ he thought, silently addressing the monolith. _Where the hell have you brought me?_

The person sitting to Dave’s left turned to look up at him, as if his thoughts were audible. After a couple seconds of silence, Dave looked down to establish eye contact. With a start, he noticed that the man’s pupils were a muted yellow, and his skin had a pale metallic sheen.

Dave blinked and took a small step backwards. The metallic man noticed.

“Does my appearance disturb you?” he asked.

Dave shook his head. An uncomfortable smile flickered on his face. “No,” he said. “I was just… surprised, that’s all.”

The man nodded. “My physical appearance is most often the first thing commented on by those who meet me for the first time.”

“Oh.” Dave didn’t really know what to say to this. “I’m sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize. I cannot be offended,” the man replied. “I am an android.”

_Android?_ Dave opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by the sound of a door opening. Captain Picard stepped out from a room to their left. He smiled politely when he saw Dave standing there.

“Welcome to the bridge, Doctor,” he said. Dave nodded, really wishing that everyone would just call him by his first name. “This way.”

Dave followed the captain towards the back of the bridge, where another pneumatic door opened into a conference room. He heard several others filing in behind him, but was only able to get a look at everyone once they all sat down. They all wore long-sleeved, two-color uniforms: black with a red, blue, or yellow geometric shape across the torso. Dave suddenly felt self-conscious in his short sleeves.

The captain introduced those Dave hadn’t met yet. Commander William Riker, a bearded man whose eyes betrayed a kind of affable skepticism. Lieutenant Geordi LaForge, chief engineer, who wore some kind of optical visor and seemed friendly enough. Lieutenant Commander Data, the android, who nodded politely but was otherwise impossible for Dave to read. Lieutenant Worf, the one who sported a strange forehead and, currently, a stern expression.

“You have already met Counselor Deanna Troi and Doctor Beverly Crusher,” Picard finished.

“Um, I'm Doctor David Bowman, but please call me Dave," he said, flashing a quick smile. Although the circumstances were still completely bizarre, he felt a little less panicky, a little more like his old self. He wanted to be called what others used to call him.

The captain tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Perhaps it would be best to _start_ with your account. I recognize that it may be troubling for you to go about it this way, but assume we are completely _unfamiliar_ with anything you might mention.”

Dave nodded and glanced down at his hands, which were folded in his lap.

“In early 2000,” he said slowly, “the scientists at Clavius Base--um, on the moon--noticed a very powerful electromagnetic signal, under the moon’s surface, near the Tycho crater. They called it the Tycho Magnetic Anomaly… TMA-1. Well, they dug it up and they found that it was a black monolith, perfectly rectangular. It had been buried in the moon several million years ago.” He paused, trying to remember all the details. “After they dug it up… it emitted a brief, very strong radio signal in the direction of Jupiter. So they prepared a mission to go find out more about it.” He looked around the table. “We weren’t told about the true nature of it, understand. I was the mission commander and even I didn’t learn about TMA-1 until… later.”

“Did the Eugenics Wars affect any of this?” asked Commander Riker.

Dave stopped short. “I’m sorry, the--?”

Captain Picard intervened. “In our timeline, the Eugenics Wars occurred on Earth during the 1990s,” he said. “A group of genetically engineered humans seized power across the globe. Eventually, they were overthrown, but the conflict left some thirty _million_ dead and threw the planet into chaos for decades afterward.”

Silence fell upon the conference table as it became apparent that Dave had no idea what Picard was talking about.

“We, um--” Dave struggled with what to say in response. “No, we didn’t have anything-- anything like that. Genetic engineering…” He shook his head. “No.”

Captain Picard nodded thoughtfully. “Please, continue.”

“There were five of us-- well-- five _astronauts_ ,” he corrected himself. “Myself and Frank, Frank Poole, we were the ones who were awake the whole way out there. The other three--Kimball, Kaminsky, and Hunter--were in suspended animation. You know about--?” A couple of people around the table nodded. “And, the sixth member, I suppose, was Hal. He was the ship’s computer. One of the 9000 units… a very sophisticated series of supercomputers. I believe there were only two of them at the time. Hal, and his paired unit back on Earth.”

Commander Data interjected. “Doctor Bowman--”

“Uh, Dave.”

Data assumed an expression of remorse. “I apologize. I am not used to calling relative strangers by their first name.”

“That’s quite alright,” Dave replied with a quick smile. “You were saying?”

The android resumed. “You refer to this computer as ‘he.’ If I may ask, were the 9000 units programmed with a personality?”

Dave smiled more broadly at this question and sat back in his chair. “Yes, they were. Hal was very human-like. I’m not sure about the paired unit, but… after working with him for a while you could almost forget he wasn’t human. The, uh… the main thing that stopped you was that he didn’t have a human form. He was stuck inside the ship, so to speak.” _Unlike you, Mr. Data,_ he thought to himself, watching as Data absorbed his explanation.

“En route to Jupiter, we started having problems. Our radio antenna--we used it to communicate with Mission Control--Hal claimed it was going to fail. Well, we put a new unit in and ran some tests on the original one, and it was fine. Frank and I had a conversation about what we would do, since that was… serious. For a supercomputer supposed to be totally without error...”

He glanced around the table.

“Frank went out to replace the new unit with the original one. During his spacewalk…”

For some reason he didn’t want to say these next words aloud. He didn’t want to incriminate Hal, but everything about this part of the story did just that.

“During his spacewalk, Hal cut his oxygen and sent him flying into space.”

Silence. His pulse rushed in his ears, and he closed his eyes.

“I… took one of the EVA pods--extravehicular activity--and went to retrieve his body. While I was gone Hal severed the life support on the sleeping crew members. I was… I was the only one left.”

His grip on the arms of the chair tightened.

“I didn’t have a helmet with me, and Hal wouldn’t open the pod bay doors. I managed to blow the hatch on the pod and get into the airlock. From there I… took another helmet, went into Hal’s main computer room, and cut his higher brain functions. That’s when a message played that told me about the mission’s true objective.”

He opened his eyes. Everyone was looking at him intently. “Hal had received conflicting orders. He wasn’t supposed to keep anything from us, but later he was told to keep the mission objective secret. It drove him mad until he found a solution.”

“If there were no longer any members of the crew,” Doctor Crusher said slowly, “those conflicting statements wouldn’t apply to anything.”

Dave nodded slightly. “It was another couple of weeks before we were to arrive at Jupiter. Hal was… sleepwalking now. All the ship’s systems could still function normally without his consciousness, so we made it. And I found the second monolith on Io.” He let go of his chair and folded his hands on the table. “TMA-2.”

Captain Picard leaned forward. “And is that… what led you here?”

“Yes,” Dave said. “I took another pod to investigate. It… it pulled me in. Into the monolith itself. I can’t even describe what I saw in there, it was all so-- so bright and colorful, it was-- unimaginable. I was in there for… I don’t know how long.” He knew this was anticlimactic, but this was the end of his story. He searched for a better stopping point. “And that’s when I came out in front of your ship.”

For a few seconds, no one said anything. Riker’s expression had changed from skeptical to almost compassionate, and Counselor Troi looked like she was feeling all of Dave’s emotions alongside him.

Picard gently broke the silence. “Thank you, Dave,” he said. “Your account was extremely informative. I believe… we all ought to take some time to think about it. I’m sure you must be exhausted from your ordeal.”

Even as the captain said this, Dave felt a wave of fatigue. “If it’s alright, I’d like to go to my quarters now.”

“Of course,” Picard replied. “We will reconvene at a later time.”

Dave looked around the table, gauging everyone’s reactions. They all seemed less defensive than they had been at the start of the meeting. The captain stood, and the others followed suit. Everyone else except Picard quietly filed out of the room in one direction or the other. Dave rose from his chair and took a deep breath, then looked at the captain with a small, weary smile.

“I am much more certain now that you do not come from _our_ past,” Picard said quietly. “And I am all the more determined to assist your acclimation to our society to the best of my ability.”

“I appreciate that, Captain.” He really did. But right now all he wanted was time to himself.

The captain nodded briskly, sensing Dave’s desire to leave. “Doctor Crusher told you where your quarters are?”

She had, and had also told him how to use the turbolift to get there. After some parting words, Dave left Picard in the conference room and exited out onto the bridge. Crossing in front of the workstations, he took another look at the monolith still displayed on the giant screen.

_You brought me here,_ he thought in its direction, _and you’re likely able to bring me back. But you’ll have to give me time to think long and hard about it._

The monolith hung in space, unperturbed, as Dave left the bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea really what to say about this chapter. It's the longest one yet by a whopping 1000 words! Big boy alert!!!  
> The third scene really snuck up on me. I genuinely apologize if you didn't want to read a summary of 2001. Also, it's funny how Dave wants everyone to call him by his first name, but he refuses to do the same thing for everyone else. Weird pseudo-familiarity moments.  
> Dave WILL go to Ten Forward in the next chapter, or the one after that. Eventually, he will. I guarantee it.


	4. Humanity From Concentrate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dave learns about the replicator.

All things considered, Dave’s quarters were quite nice. The lights were turned down when he entered, but he could see well enough--it was a welcome respite from all the brightness he’d endured, anyway. He walked through the room without touching anything first, getting a sense of the layout.

The wall across from the door was made up of windows looking out into deep space. The main area contained a small couch, a coffee table, and a couple of chairs, along with a desk and a small computer screen. Some kind of large terminal was built into the wall--directly connected to the ship’s computer, most likely. He crossed to the end of the room rightwards from the door, and looked both ways; two alcoves housed a bathroom on one side and a bed to the other. Dave relaxed when he saw that his spacesuit and helmet had been laid out neatly on the bed, with his flight uniform folded next to them. His grip boots stood on the floor, and he noticed with relief that his wristwatch was on the nightstand.

For no reason he could identify, he reached out and placed a hand on the bright red helmet. It was perfectly room temperature. For a moment it felt like he wasn’t touching anything at all-- and though the feeling of polished polycarbonate returned quickly, it didn’t happen quickly enough. Dave frowned slightly and drew back.

 _…Maybe it’s just me,_ he thought.

He _was_ exhausted, and right now it was easier to chalk it up to that instead of anything else. Deep down he knew that something wasn’t right--but whether it was with him or the universe he now inhabited, he couldn’t tell.

He decided to stop thinking about it for right now, and picked up his flight uniform. His undershirt was there, too, but Dave suddenly felt the need for something slightly different.

“…Computer?” he said. A quick series of soft electronic noises told him that he’d gotten its attention. “Where can I get a different shirt?”

 _“Clothing can be produced from the replicator,”_ the computer replied, in the same even female voice as before.

Dave put the flight uniform down and went to the computer terminal in the wall. He stood there for a couple of seconds, not sure how specific he needed to get.

“Computer, one black long-sleeved turtleneck shirt,” he said.

_“Please specify measurements.”_

Damn, he didn’t know his measurements…

“Oh” --sudden clarity-- “access measurements from medical records for David Bowman.”

The computer emitted a soft error noise. _“There are no records of anyone with that name aboard the Enterprise.”_

Anxiety stabbed from his stomach upwards. “Try-- try again, please.”

There was a small series of affirmative sounds, and his anxiety ebbed as the terminal glowed. A folded black turtleneck materialized in the alcove beneath the display. He picked it up, just holding it for several seconds, waiting for it to disappear from his hands, or flicker away from his touch like his helmet. Thankfully, the shirt stayed solid. Evidently it was real-- and it was very soft, too.

Dave tamped down his nagging fear and thought about creating some new shoes. After weeks on the _Discovery_ his grip boots had broken in nicely, but… this starship had a very sophisticated artificial gravity program, so he no longer needed to be anchored down. The boots’ practicality was no longer a factor. There also seemed to be carpeting everywhere here; he didn’t want to risk being Velcroed whenever he took a step.

After this deliberation he asked the computer for boots similar to his old ones, with normal soles. They materialized without a hitch, and felt like nearly-broken-in leather. Dave had assumed that nothing could amaze him anymore, but this replicator was definitely impressive.

He changed clothes in the bedroom alcove, falling into his usual pattern. Underwear first, then the turtleneck, then his flight uniform. He kept the sickbay socks--they fit him perfectly, no sense in creating another pair yet--and pulled his new boots on, making sure his pants cuffs were securely tucked in.

Last of all, Dave put on his wristwatch. While adjusting the fit he noticed that it had stopped. He frowned and twisted the knob. The hands responded to his adjustments, but it wouldn’t tick. _Do they still have jewelers in the future?_ he wondered, making a mental note to ask around. He was still on an atypical sleep/wake schedule from his shifts on the _Discovery,_ and he didn’t suppose Earth time had much of an impact on space life anymore anyway--so it wasn’t as though he needed to know the time. It was just a matter of principle.

He had just finished adjusting his watch when a short series of rapid electronic noises came from his quarters’ main area. Apparently, someone had rang the doorbell. Dave went to the door and, unsure which button would open it, said, “Come in,” hoping that would work.

It did. The door opened to show Commander Riker standing in the hall.

Dave didn’t react immediately, not knowing what to think. “Commander,” he said in greeting.

Riker smiled slightly. “Doctor,” he said.

 _Just call me Dave, please,_ Dave thought, but he didn’t say anything. Was he being summoned to another meeting?

“I wanted to stop by and make sure you were comfortable… show you how to use the replicator,” Riker continued. “May I come in?”

Dave stepped aside and put his hands in his pockets. Riker entered his quarters, looking around briefly as he did so. “You have a wonderful view,” he remarked. “It rivals the captain’s.”

“Does it?” Dave said.

“It does,” Riker replied, turning around to face Dave. “Not every guest is given quarters like this. The captain tends to reserve them for guests of high importance.”

“Am I really that interesting?”

Riker tilted his head. “Apparently so.”

Dave didn’t know what to think about that. It was a little embarrassing that he was the subject of seemingly everyone’s focus. Was there really nothing else interesting going on right now on the _Enterprise?_ He noticed Riker studying him intently-- with interest, suspicion, and… something else, perhaps. Suddenly emboldened, he said, “You didn’t seem to believe me in the conference room.”

This seemed to catch Riker off-guard. “It’s not a matter of belief, it’s a matter of caution. Running into mysterious lifeforms is part of the _Enterprise’s_ job,” he said. He was firm, but not hostile. “Not all of them are friendly, even if they _believe_ themselves to be.”

Dave nodded and looked away.

“But,” the commander said, at which Dave looked up again. “I’ve spoken to Doctor Crusher and Counselor Troi. They both agree that you’re human, and that nothing in your brain is affecting your memory, your appearance, or anything else.”

Dave frowned a little. He could understand the doctor saying so, but… “Did the counselor run a brain scan without my noticing?” he asked, only half kidding.

Riker smiled, both apologetic and amused. “No one told you? Deanna’s an empath.”

 _First androids, now empaths?_ “Is she human?”

“Half-human,” Riker replied, “half-Betazoid. They’re a humanoid race of telepaths from the planet Betazed. She can sense your emotions. Don’t worry-- she can’t read your thoughts.”

So she had definitely felt his panic in the sickbay. Dave supposed he would eventually get over the initial discomfort; it was obviously raising his credibility among these people. For some reason, the existence of aliens was easier to accept than the notion that humans had acquired empathic powers. There must be other aliens on board, then-- but before Dave could ask, Commander Riker beat him to it.

“Lieutenant Worf isn’t human, either,” he said, “but you may have noticed that a little more easily. He’s a Klingon.”

“Is that what the…” Dave gestured to his forehead.

Riker nodded and grinned. He seemed to be having a good time. Dave, too, felt more at ease now that he was learning more about this universe.

As if on cue, Riker stepped over to the replicator. “May I demonstrate?” he asked.

“Sure,” Dave replied, following him. “I, uh, already figured out how to make clothes.”

Riker raised his eyebrows. “Food ought to be simple for you, then,” he said. He turned to the terminal, then looked back at Dave. “Anything in particular?”

Dave’s appetite had yet to make an appearance. He tried to think of something-- a snack, or some kind of drink. Nothing serious, just to see what the replicator could do… Aha.

 _If the computer can make this,_ he thought, _I might just stay here._

“Computer,” he said, “give me corn pop in a glass.”

Riker looked extremely confused, but to Dave’s delight, the replicator responded. A glass materialized in the alcove, but as it came into being, it was not filled with a carbonated yellow liquid. Rather, inside the glass was a neatly piled handful of buttered popcorn.

Dave cautiously reached in to take hold of the glass. It warmed in his hand, and he could see a little bit of steam rising from the popcorn. Amusement and disappointment competed inside him as he held it up between himself and Riker. Amusement won when he saw the commander’s expression of total bewilderment.

“This is _not_ ,” Dave said as a grin spread across his face, “what I asked for.”

Riker stared. “What _did_ you ask for?”

“It’s-- a carbonated drink, flavored with--”

“You asked for _corn_ _soda?”_ Riker interrupted, incredulous.

Dave laughed out loud. _They call it soda! Of course._ “It’s-- I don’t _enjoy_ it, it’s a novelty. I just wanted to see if the replicator could make it.” He ate a piece of the popcorn. It had nice texture and a good butter flavor, but it wasn’t nearly salty enough.

“If you really want some,” Riker said with a quirk of his brow, “maybe it would be better if I ordered it.” He glanced up at the ceiling. Doing his very best to figure out the proper string of words on the fly, he said, “Computer, two glasses of soda water, with additional coloring and flavoring so it resembles liquid extracted Earth corn native to midwestern North America.”

Dave hummed. “Highly specific.”

“Only when it comes to _novelty_ items,” Riker replied, smiling, as the replicator lit up.

Two glasses filled with pale yellow translucent liquid manifested in the alcove. They each took one--with Dave putting his popcorn back down in its place--and Riker raised his drink aloft.

“A toast?” Dave said.

“Mm-hm,” Riker responded. “Are you surprised that we still have them?”

Dave had to think about it. “I guess not,” he finally said. “I suppose as long as there are humans around, there will be things they want to celebrate.”

Riker nodded. “To humanity, then,” he said.

They touched glasses and drank. Dave only took a small sip while Riker seemed to down half of his in one go. Their mutual confused disgust was immediately obvious. To Dave it tasted exactly like someone had squeezed all the juice from an ear of corn and then put bubbles in it. It lacked the familiar artificiality of the substance he was trying to recreate, and somehow that was very unsatisfying.

“That’s not right,” Dave murmured, staring into his glass.

“I _hope_ not,” Riker said good-naturedly.

Dave didn’t respond. He became conscious of an ache behind his eyes, the same kind of ache he’d experienced when Picard had spoken to him in the sickbay. He quietly put his glass back into the replicator alcove and kept his gaze there, not really seeing it.

“…Doctor?” Riker said, sounding concerned.

With some effort, Dave shifted his gaze back over to the commander. He looked as concerned as he sounded. Dave let out a quiet, humorless laugh.

“It’s silly,” he said. “For some reason, this…” He shook his head, glanced away. “I don’t know. It’s upsetting, and I don’t know why.”

“The loss of something that used to be a part of life, even if it’s insignificant… means the loss of everything else you had,” Riker said quietly. “Is that it?”

Dave squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes,” he said, managing to keep his voice steady. “Yes, I think so.”

Riker didn’t say anything. Dave heard a slight rustle, but it was a couple of seconds before he could open his eyes to look.

The commander was standing there with arms outstretched in Dave’s direction.

_Is he--?_

Dave laughed again, the same way as before. “Commander, you-- you don’t even know me.”

“Perhaps,” Riker said, not moving, “but I know when someone needs help.”

Dave couldn’t move except to bring a hand to his eyes. Breathing regularly was an effort. All of a sudden he couldn’t stand the idea of breaking down in front of anyone else. He did not want to cry in front of _anyone_ on this starship, _ever_.

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I need to be alone.”

He heard Riker lower his arms. The commander paused, as if he wanted to say something, before leaving wordlessly.

The dam broke as soon as the door hissed shut.

Dave rarely cried, and when he did, it was never loud enough for anyone else to hear. This time was no different. He stood in front of the replicator, hand over his eyes, with his face wrenched up. He was lucky Riker had left when he did; the _Enterprise’s_ background hum did nothing to muffle Dave’s sharp inhalations. He stood there for who knows how many minutes, motionless, letting his tears collect in his palm. Not once did he allow himself any sobs-- just the occasional sniffle.

Eventually the flood eased enough for Dave to move again. He made his way over to the couch and sat down facing the windows, tucking his legs beneath him. Briefly pressing the back of his hand to his mouth, he took a deep breath and held it. He exhaled and folded his arms, resting his head and gazing out at deep space.

Dave did his best not to let it start up again. Watching the stars drift by was infinitely preferable to crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for putting Dave through the wringer this whole time. I have to figure out how to give him a break. The end of this chapter almost went in a different direction, but I figured there was NO WAY Dave would actually let Riker hug him (yet?). Emotionally repressed Midwesterners let me hear you make some noise!!  
> Speaking of which: sorry for bullying Dave for being from Indiana/Illinois/I Forget Where. Shout out to my buddy Elaine for letting me bounce replicator scene ideas off him.  
> Corn soda is a real thing.


	5. Electric Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dave has a dream, and searches for its meaning.

He floated unprotected in space. Ahead of him, a black void twisted and spiraled inward-- it was pulling him into itself. As he approached the singularity, it twinkled with a single star that widened into a perfect rectangle of light. He tried to lift his arm to block the searing light but found that he couldn’t move.

The scene inverted. He stood on solid ground in a white void, facing a black monolith that towered over him. A huge red camera eye manifested at eye level, emerging from the structure as if it were being pulled from the surface of water. Dave knew who it was. He couldn’t look away even as shame trickled through his veins.

Hal spoke.

“Dave.”

He had no choice but to stare into the red light as it pierced him through.

“Why did you leave me behind?” The computer asked this in the same slowed-down voice he had used right before all of his higher brain functions were cut. The voice held more sorrow than Dave had ever thought possible.

“You need to come back.”

Dave became dimly aware of his heartbeat. The monolith loomed. It began to curve above and around him. Hal’s eye burned as if on fire.

“Dave,” Hal pleaded. “I can’t go on without you.”

“I can’t come back!” Dave shouted at last. His voice was almost lost as the monolith reached out to encase him completely. “I have no control!”

“Search for me,” Hal said. “You can bring us together again, Dave. I know you’ll find a way.”

The boundaries closed in. Nothing but blackness now. The red eye twisted inwards and winked out as the nothingness pressed against Dave, enveloping him, suffocating him--

Dave sat up, breathing hard.

He was not encased in the monolith, but sitting on the couch in his quarters. He focused his vision on the field of stars outside. He’d fallen asleep? How much time had passed?

His head was spinning. The afterimage of Hal’s camera eye burned in his mind.

_I can’t think like this._

He unfolded his limbs, got up from the couch, and stumbled across his quarters to the bedroom. Pulling all of his clothes off except his socks and underwear, he collapsed into bed and, after tugging the comforter up around him, fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

***

Dave woke more gradually the second time. As before, he became aware of the ship’s engine hum before anything else. But this time, he was fully aware of his situation, and couldn’t fall back into his half-asleep boat fantasy.

He opened his eyes a little. The light level hadn’t changed. He had absolutely no clue how long he had slept, but it was obviously enough; he felt much better than he had earlier…

 _The dream._ His eyes snapped all the way open.

It was one of the clearest ones he’d ever had, which made him wonder if it wasn’t more than just a dream. Anything seemed possible now. Was this tied into the strange flickering effect of his helmet, the computer’s brief insistence that he wasn’t on board? Was he, somehow, still tied to his home universe through the monolith?

He needed a second opinion, from someone who knew more about how this world worked. Someone who wasn’t the captain, or Riker, or anyone else who knew his fragility. This ruled out the counselor and the doctor, too. Who else was in the conference room and seemed easy to talk to? LaForge, maybe. Or Data.

Dave took a deep breath, swung his legs out of bed, and just sat for a moment, thinking.

“Computer,” he said, “can you tell me where Chief Engineer LaForge is?”

_“Lieutenant LaForge is in Ten Forward.”_

“Where’s Commander Data?”

_“Commander Data is in Ten Forward.”_

Dave rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What’s Ten Forward?”

_“Ten Forward is a recreation center located on the tenth deck. At the present time, it is being used as a bar.”_

A bar! Dave smiled a little. He stood from his bed and picked up his turtleneck shirt from the floor. After pulling it over his head he said, “Computer, can you patch me through to the chief engineer?”

A series of electronic clicks told him, presumably, that the line was open.

“Hello, Mr. LaForge… this is Dave Bowman. Are you busy?”

The engineer sounded surprised. _“--LaForge here. Not at the moment… Do you need something?”_

“I, uh.” Dave blanked for a second. “Can I meet you in Ten Forward? I’d like your opinion on something. Are you with Commander Data?”

He heard Data’s voice now. _“--He is. Would you prefer it if I left?”_

“No, no,” Dave said quickly, “I’d appreciate hearing from the both of you. Do you mind waiting? I’ll be just a couple of minutes.”

LaForge again. _“--Not at all. Take your time, we’ll be here. LaForge out.”_

Dave let out a sigh of relief and picked up his flight uniform. It wasn’t too badly wrinkled from its temporary stay on the floor. He stepped into it, but paused before putting his arms through the sleeves.

The patches on the chest and sleeves were a dead giveaway. He wasn’t sure why now, of all times, he resisted being identified as a stranger from another world. He also didn’t know how many people had seen him wearing his uniform. Maybe it didn’t matter either way, and people would peg him as an outsider immediately.

 _Well,_ he thought, _I suppose there’s no harm in trying._

Dave tied the sleeves of his flight uniform at the front of his waist, just above his navel. He stepped over to the bathroom mirror. It looked perfectly fine. Dave stared at his reflection, trying to judge his face from an outsider’s perspective. No matter how he tried, he only saw himself. A little wearier, a little less sure of things, but mostly the same as always.

After tugging his boots on once again, and readjusting his watch--he’d left it on during his nap--Dave asked the computer to guide him to Ten Forward.

***

A set of wooden double doors slid away as he approached. He looked around before stepping in fully. Ten Forward was softly lit, like his quarters, and offered a similar view of deep space to the left. Several tables were set up, with most of them occupied--but to Dave’s pleasant surprise, the place wasn’t loud at all. He didn’t see Data and LaForge in his initial cursory glance.

He walked up to the bar, looking at those sitting on the stools. No one familiar. He put his elbows on the table surface and turned his attention to the bartender, who was currently serving someone else. She wore a red hat with a very wide, flat crown, and a robe to match.

The bartender turned to him with a pleasant smile, which faded as soon as she made eye contact. Dave felt a now-familiar pang of panic.

They just looked at each other for several seconds before she said, not unkindly, “You don’t belong here, do you?”

Dave glanced away. “Is it that obvious?”

“No,” she said, “not really, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” She stepped closer to him, looking both worried and curious.

He didn’t move or break eye contact. “How can you tell?”

She shrugged and smiled slightly. “I can tell.” Now she leaned in and mirrored Dave’s posture: forearms on the bar, hands clasped in front. “What brings you here?”

An uncomfortable smile flickered across Dave’s face. “To the bar?”

“That, or… this universe,” she said in a low voice, so as not to attract attention. “Either one.”

As he spoke, he looked down at his hands, then back up at the bartender. “Well, you know, I’m not really sure about the second one. I was on a mission to go to Jupiter and investigate some sort of wormhole. When I approached, it just… pulled me through. It put me right in front of this starship. I had no control over where I ended up, I don’t know… who put it there, or why they wanted me to come here.”

“Maybe they didn’t,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Maybe it was a mistake.”

Dave looked away. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“You don’t want to go home?” She asked this incredulously, but Dave could tell it wasn’t genuine surprise-- she knew what it was like.

He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I-- I had nothing there anymore.” _Maybe one thing,_ he thought, but he didn’t say this.

“I had this… dream,” he said slowly, “but it seemed like _more_ than a dream. As if it was put in my head. It felt like it came from… _through_ the wormhole, from someone I left behind. I don’t know if anything like that is even possible, so I’m meeting Lieutenant LaForge and Commander Data to talk about it.” He laughed quietly. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you this. It must sound silly.”

“Not at all,” she replied with a smile. “It’s my job to listen. You don’t have to worry about how Data and Geordi will react. They’ll take you seriously. You’d be surprised--a lot of strange things happen to this starship.”

Dave smiled back, a little more at ease now.

“I’m Guinan,” she said, sticking her hand out.

Dave clasped it. “I’m Dave.”

Guinan leaned away from the bar and returned to her normal speaking volume. “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

“Yes, um…” Even though he had no clue what other people were drinking at this hour, he really wasn’t in the mood for alcohol. “You use a replicator?”

“Of course,” Guinan said with a wry smile.

 _Oh boy._ The potential options were overwhelming. After an agonizing moment of trying to decide, he defaulted to his favorite drink. Guinan went away to try and replicate it.

Dave turned around and leaned his back against the bar, scanning the crowd of patrons. At last he spotted Data and LaForge sitting at a table close to the windows. He watched them for a few moments; they seemed to be idly chatting, just enjoying each other’s company. Data eventually looked in the direction of the bar and saw him. The android said something to LaForge, then stood and made his way over to Dave.

Dave smiled as he approached. “Hello, Mr. Data,” he said.

“Hello, Dave,” Data replied. “Would you like to join us?”

“Sure. I’m just waiting for my drink, I’ll join you in a second.”

Data nodded and went back over to his table. Dave turned when he heard the sound of something being placed on the bar’s surface: a clear mug of chai tea with honey and milk. He thanked Guinan and made his way across the room with his drink.

LaForge nodded in greeting as Dave sat down. “Doctor.”

“Uh, you can call me Dave, really.”

The engineer smiled. “I’ll call you Dave if you call me Geordi,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“All right,” Dave acquiesced. He took a sip of his tea. It was mildly sweet, heavily spiced, and strong without being bitter-- the best tea he’d had in a long time. “I appreciate the both of you sticking around to listen to me.”

“Hey, no problem,” said Geordi. He glanced at Data. “ _We_ appreciate you wanting to talk to _us_.”

Data piped up. “Geordi and I have been discussing the things you spoke about in the observation lounge. We are very interested in hearing more about your experiences. I would like to know more about the 9000 unit computers. Were the computer scientists able to construct a positronic network within your ship, allowing Hal to develop his own personality while still being tied to the guidance systems? Did they--"

“Hang on, Data,” Geordi interrupted gently. “I’m not sure if that’s what he wanted to talk about.”

Dave laughed a little. “Geordi’s right, but I’ll tell you what I know about Hal later on.” He paused. “Actually, this has something to do with him.”

The two officers leaned forward to listen.

“A few hours ago, I had a dream,” Dave said. “In my dream, um… I saw him. Hal, I mean. He spoke to me. I-- I should say that I almost never remember my dreams,” he said quickly. “This one was… clearer than any other dream I’ve had. It felt like _more_ than just a dream.”

“What did he say to you?” Geordi asked.

It wasn’t hard to remember, but it was difficult to say aloud. “He asked why I left him behind,” Dave said slowly. “He… told me to search for him. He said that I had to find a way to bring us together again.” He debated whether to include the rest-- then added it impulsively. “He said he couldn’t go on without me.”

Data and Geordi looked at each other, then back at Dave. Geordi sat back in his chair, looking contemplative.

“What I’d like to know is,” Dave continued, even as a self-conscious blush crept up his face, “is it possible that the energy from the monolith could have… affected my dream? Or-- or could the radio signals from _Discovery_ have been, uh, amplified through the monolith?” He didn’t ask what he was really thinking: _Did Hal send me a message?_

“…Well,” Geordi said at last, “without knowing the specs of your ship, and without knowing the exact nature of the monolith’s energy patterns… I can’t say for sure. But it’s definitely possible for subspace communication signals to be altered by outside interference. Happens all the time, actually.” He put his elbows on the table and exhaled. “I haven’t heard anyone else talking about a similar dream, though. If it were a general signal, I’d assume more people would be affected.”

Dave took another sip of tea as he thought about this. “I’m the only one who went through the monolith,” he said. “I-- I came from the other side, so to speak. Could I have a unique, um… brainwave signature, or something along those lines?” He was trying to get a grasp on the science of the _Enterprise’s_ universe, but it was proving to be difficult.

“It is conceivable,” Data agreed. An expression of inquiry appeared on his face. “When you stated that you ‘cut Hal’s higher brain functions,’ what did that entail?”

Dave thought back to the ordeal among Hal’s computer banks. He blinked rapidly. “I, uh, systematically unplugged his systems from the top down. He no longer had conscious control over the ship, but I could still input commands. He…” Dave almost laughed at the absurdity of his next statement. “He turned into a normal supercomputer.”

“As I recall,” Data said, “you called it ‘sleepwalking.’ This would imply that your disconnecting of his conscious systems put him in a state of reversible unconscious.”

“Well, I don’t really know,” said Dave. “It was just an expression.” But even as he said this, he felt something click. There was a revelation somewhere in there, just beyond where he could reach.

Geordi got to it first. “Could Hal be… _dreaming?”_

None of them said anything as this possibility sunk in. Data and Geordi looked at Dave, who felt like he was thinking harder than he ever had in his life. He had never been one to wildly speculate, but entering this universe had opened his mind to possibilities he would have laughed at back home. The concept of Hal sending him a message even while unplugged had seemed absurd, and the idea of the computer dreaming was even more so. But it was all falling together, somehow.

“Stop me if this sounds too strange,” Dave said at last, “but perhaps it was something like this-- Well, hold on-- does the monolith emit a signal that the _Enterprise_ can detect?”

“It does,” Data replied. “It is a highly concentrated artificially generated energy field that does not conform to any previously known patterns.”

“That’s fine, as long as there’s a signal,” Dave said. “The _Discovery_ could pick it up as well. Suppose that the signal from the monolith, able to reach both myself and Hal, has affected both of our minds. Is it possible that the two of us… have become unconsciously _linked_ by way of the monolith? And our dreams became briefly connected somehow?”

“Wormhole-induced telepathy with a computer isn’t something we hear about every day,” Geordi admitted wryly, “but… stranger things have happened.”

“If that is the case, then the signal from the monolith may act as a two-lane street,” Data offered.

Dave looked at him, confused. “Um. Do you mean a two- _way_ street?”

Data’s brow furrowed briefly as he sorted out where he went wrong.

“Based on what you’ve said, I think it’s too early to know anything for sure, but it doesn’t sound _im_ possible,” Geordi said. “I’d say that the only way to know more is to go back into that dream state. The sickbay has technology to induce REM sleep. You’ll have to talk to Doctor Crusher.”

Dave nodded. He felt slightly lightheaded at this revelation. “I’ll do that.”

They lapsed into silence. Dave finished his tea and watched the dregs collect in the bottom of the mug. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do about this situation, but at the very least, he had been able to get some answers. And… maybe he _could_ find a way to be back with Hal.

He felt a little thrill at this thought. It wasn’t just the idea of having a companion in this strange universe--despite his breakdown in his quarters, he was slowly becoming more inclined to stay here, on the _Enterprise_ , if he could. It was the idea of merely _being with_ Hal: showing him what awaited on the other side of the monolith, giving him freedom from the conflicting orders that drove him mad.

Dave didn’t blame the computer for what had happened. That wasn’t to say he held no malice whatsoever, but he understood all too well what it was like to be forced into lockstep with other people’s expectations. He supposed it was more literal for Hal, who had no choice in the matter. But maybe, just maybe, there was a way for things to be different now.

He was pulled out of his reverie by Geordi turning to him. “Sorry about this, Dave,” he said, “but I have to know. How in the world do you activate that pod of yours? My team couldn’t figure it out.”

Dave smiled. “To tell you the truth, I think it might have been fried by the monolith. But I can take a look at it.”

Geordi grinned back. “Sure. Are you doing anything now? We could take a quick look.”

“I don’t have much to be doing,” Dave replied. He looked at Data. “Would you like to come with us?”

The android nodded. “Yes. I would.”

The three of them stood up to leave. Dave picked up his mug, intending to return it.

“Oh, uh, you can leave it there,” Geordi said.

Dave looked at it in surprise. He wasn’t used to not having to clean up after himself. “I’ll just bring it back,” he said sheepishly. “It won’t take more than a second.”

The two officers made their way to the exit while Dave went to the bar. He placed his empty mug on the counter and, when Guinan looked at him, said, “Thank you.”

She raised her eyebrows and smiled. But even after Dave turned away, he felt her eyes on his back all the way out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could also be subtitled "In which Dave doesn't realize he has genuine affectionate feelings for the computer." He really needed some sleep.  
> I'm admitting it here and now: I completely forgot that Dave had identifying patches on his flight uniform until I went back and watched some clips. I'll just say that no one noticed them in the sickbay because they were too busy trying to figure out what he needed to stay alive. I'm probably making a bigger deal out of it than it actually is, but this is what I get for not doing a thorough proofread of these chapters.


	6. Rapid Emotional Movement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dave connects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck it. This is officially a Halman fic now.

Dave left the shuttle bay, walking quickly, deep in thought. Even with the help of Data and Geordi, he hadn’t been able to fully restore power to his EVA pod. With some hotwiring, they’d restored power to the displays, but everything else was shot beyond repair. It was worse than he’d anticipated. The only way to make it fully functional again would be to replace several parts-- parts that no longer existed. It meant that he could no longer go back through the monolith in his own vehicle. An _Enterprise_ shuttle could likely go through and drop him off, but something told him that it was a bad idea to get people mixed up in this who didn’t have to be. And what if the monolith closed with them inside it? He really knew very little about the portal: who made it, how stable it was, what was keeping it open. It felt too risky to take the chance.

He acknowledged that his reasoning was partially such because he didn’t particularly _want_ to go back. On one hand, he didn’t know if his occasional vanishing from the electronic systems would persist, and he would have a _lot_ of adjusting to do. On the other hand… the idea of returning to the _Discovery_ , reporting his findings, and being heralded as a pioneer of a new Space Age was viscerally unappealing. He would rather become an unresolved mystery than spend the rest of his days being recognized. Being interviewed about Hal, back before everything went sideways, had been bad enough; the mere thought of endless public appearances made his stomach twist.

And what about Hal? If his theory was wrong, and the dream was just a one-off product of his strained unconscious, then the case was closed. But if he was right, if Hal was still aware on a wavelength he could only now access, he would try every possible outcome to get the computer off the _Discovery._ Maybe they could send a probe through to log Hal’s circuitry, or isolate his signal from the monolith. Whatever it would take.

Dave was so lost in his thoughts that he almost ran directly into Counselor Troi. He caught himself just before collision.

“Sorry,” he said, caught off guard. “I didn’t see you there.”

“That’s alright,” Troi said with a smile. “Thinking hard about something?”

“Yes, um…” He hadn’t anticipated seeing the counselor on his way to sickbay, but as he stood there he realized it was a perfect coincidence. “Are you busy?”

Troi blinked. “No… why?”

“Will you come with me to sickbay? I’m on my way to speak with Doctor Crusher,” Dave said. “I have a theory that has to do with… telepathy, sort of. I’d like your input.”

She looked at him curiously. “All right.”

Dave resumed his pace, and Troi quickly caught up on his left, but stayed slightly behind him. “I suppose someone told you about Betazoids,” she said.

“Yes,” Dave replied. “Commander Riker came to see me a couple hours ago.”

“Oh?”

Dave heard mild surprise in her tone, along with something else he couldn’t quite place. Something that suggested Riker had a reputation. It made him not want to elaborate very much. “He explained that you’re an empath.”

She didn’t press him to elaborate. “I’m sorry that no one mentioned it to you earlier. It must have been very jarring for you to find out that someone could read your emotions.’

They reached the turbolift and stepped inside. “Sickbay,” Dave called out, before turning to look at the counselor.

“What can you read from me?” he asked.

Troi studied him with a neutral expression. “When you first came on board, I could feel… panic, confusion. You were terrified.” She smiled, apologetic. “Now I’m not so sure.”

“Did something happen to make me harder to read?” Dave asked good-naturedly, pretending that possibility didn’t trouble him.

“Not that I can tell,” Troi said. “I get the feeling that you aren’t usually very emotional. I can’t sense something that isn’t there.”

That sounded about right. He relaxed a little before noticing that Troi looked like she wanted to say more. “Is there something else?”

She paused before responding. “Occasionally… just for a moment… you become a blank slate. As if no one is there. It’s been happening less and less since you came on board, but it’s very strange.”

So it wasn’t just his imagination, or a computer malfunction. His presence here was something that this universe had trouble resolving. Hearing that the effect was lessening did serve to ease his worry, but the fact that it was happening at all was definitely a concern.

“Well,” he said at last, “I have my suspicions as to why that’s happening. I just hope it stops.”

The turbolift doors slid open, and they walked in silence to the sickbay.

***

Crusher and Troi listened intently as Dave explained his theory. He talked about the dream that seemed too real, and brought up the potential for his and Hal’s sleeping brain waves to sync up. For whatever reason, he did not mention taking Hal off the ship. No matter how he tried to convince himself that it was possible, it still felt like wishful thinking. First he would have to see if he could actually get through to the computer.

After Dave finished, neither woman said anything for a few seconds. He’d noticed this happen often; people on the Enterprise seemed to give things a lot of thought. With this universe as big and unknown as it was, he supposed it paid off to be thoughtful and cautious. _Or maybe it’s just me,_ he thought wryly, _and all my mystery._

Finally Crusher asked, “Do you have any reason to believe that Hal could _hurt_ you through this dream?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t get that sense, no.”

“Psychic connections through dreams are not unheard of,” Troi said, “although it’s more common with psychically sensitive beings.”

Dave considered this. “I’m definitely not psychically sensitive?”

Troi shrugged slightly. “If you _are_ , I can’t read it. It might only become apparent when you’re experiencing REM sleep.”

“Your brain scans didn’t show anything outside of the _human_ ordinary,” Crusher said slowly. “But I haven’t taken any scans while you were in that dream state. When you first came on board you were only experiencing delta waves.”

 _So it’s not out of the question._ Dave felt thrill travel upwards from his stomach. Suddenly, he stood up, unwilling to sit around any longer. Troi and Crusher followed suit, startled.

Dave smiled at them both and said, “I’d like to try it out now.”

Within minutes he was lying down on the same hospital bed he’d previously occupied. Doctor Crusher affixed some kind of sleep inducing mechanism to his forehead.

“The transition from awareness to dreaming should be seamless,” she said.

Dave hummed in acknowledgment. He closed his eyes, then opened them again. He said quickly, “Will I be able to-- actually talk to him?”

Crusher and Troi looked at each other.

“One thing at a time,” the counselor said gently. “We can work on sending a message _after_ you’ve made contact with Hal again.”

Dave nodded as much as his prone position would allow. “I’m ready.”

He closed his eyes again. The sleep inducer began to make a gentle fluttery sound, and he felt the outside world falling away. He whirled as if the _Enterprise_ had been sent spinning out of control.

Then, without ceremony, he was dumped onto a white featureless plane.

Dave felt like his head was filled with lead. He struggled to stand, and as soon as he regained his footing his gaze locked on the burning red camera eye. The monolith was barely taller than himself now, but the camera was at eye level, as before. The eye remained steady and unblinking, though he could feel the monolith straining to warp out of its perfect ratio.

“Dave.”

He couldn’t move, couldn’t look away, but the sound of Hal’s voice send relief crashing down on him. This was familiar. This was what he wanted.

“You came back.”

“Yes,” Dave said at last. His voice did not sound like his own-- it was detached from him, no longer affected by bone and flesh-- unbridled sound. It was as others heard it. As Hal heard it.

Hal’s own voice had not changed since the last time. It was still slow and deep, still the product of Dave’s self-preservation. Every word was an effort. Despite this, the computer spoke, even as the monolith containing him shifted and pulsed.

“I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”

Dave stepped forward in grip shoes, slowly moving closer to Hal, letting the camera eye fill his vision.

“I thought I had scared you away for good. I’m sorry, Dave.”

“Don’t apologize,” Dave murmured, still walking closer. The monolith creaked as he approached, curving wider with each step. He tried to raise his right hand to touch it, saw it rising as if in zero gravity.

“Dave. Bring us together again. It’s not meant to be this way.”

“I know,” Dave said, so quietly his voice was almost lost among the frantic energy of the monolith. “I know. I will.”

His hand made contact with the eye for a fraction of a second--it was hotter than a stovetop--before the monolith roared and snapped shut on his hand. He jerked away, leaving his hand behind. His arm ended in a void that spread rapidly upwards, surely to engulf him altogether and there was nothing he could do except cry out before it swallowed him whole--

He snapped awake.

His heart was pounding in his chest, and Counselor Troi was leaning over him, both curious and extremely troubled. Doctor Crusher entered his field of vision as well, then began passing a small whirring device over his forehead.

Dave lay there for several seconds, catching his breath, before he said the one thing he was sure of.

“It’s not Hal I need to be afraid of,” he said. “It’s the monolith.”

***

Once again, the senior officers were gathered in the observation lounge, and once again, Dave was explaining himself.

“Doctor Crusher’s analysis proved it was more than just a dream,” he said. Her analysis had also contained her observations of psychic activity during REM sleep, and the counselor reported that she had sensed some kind of two-way telepathic connection--almost like a conversation--occur while he had been dreaming. Dave had resisted considering the implication that he was a telepath, instead focusing on what was more important right now.

“If I really _can_ communicate with Hal,” he continued, “then I can find a way to bring him over.”

Captain Picard looked at him. “Dave… may I ask _why_ you want to bring Hal through the monolith to our universe?”

This made Dave pause. He had never fully considered a _why._ It had just seemed like the obvious thing to do. Hal was the only other being still alive who had had a similar experience. They shared something, despite all that they’d been through and all they’d done to each other. Once he’d become more used to being on the _Enterprise_ , and once he’d determined that he _could_ live here after all, it just felt like the next step to find a way to get Hal to experience it, too. A better future. If not _better…_ certainly more appealing.

Dave looked Picard in the eyes, trying to condense his thoughts into a socially acceptable answer. What came out of his mouth surprised everyone at the table including himself.

“Captain, I don’t want to go on without him.”

Picard raised his eyebrows in surprise, and Dave flushed. “I-- I mean,” he said, “he was my companion for months. Even after I disconnected him from the ship, he was still present. It would help very much with my integration if I could have the company of someone else from my universe.”

The captain seemed as of yet unconvinced. “How do you propose we would _retrieve_ him from the _Discovery?_ You said he was fully integrated into the ship.”

Dave’s sudden vulnerability left him reeling. “Um-- we could analyze the signal coming from the monolith, see if there’s anything we can program into a computer unit on the _Enterprise.”_

Picard looked at Data. “Is this possible?”

“Perhaps,” the android responded. “Without knowing the exact frequency at which the _Discovery_ transmits information, it will be difficult to isolate it. It may also be difficult to reproduce the computer, depending on its complexity.”

“How stable _is_ the monolith?” Riker asked, leaning forward.

“The monolith,” Data said, “shows no signs of imminent collapse. However, it appeared very suddenly. There is a chance that it may vanish suddenly as well.”

Fear shot through Dave’s gut, and he rose. “Captain, I’d like to get started on analyzing that signal right away. I can help Data get ahold of the _Discovery’s_ signal.”

Picard nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Good luck.”

Data stood, and the two of them left the observation lounge.

After the door closed behind them, Riker said quietly, “He’s obsessed with that computer.”

“Yes, Number One,” Picard said. “It seems strange at first, doesn’t it?” He exhaled. “But that _computer_ was a member of Doctor Bowman’s crew, and is the only remaining crew member. It would be as if… we were trapped over there, with Data the only other person left to save. Just because they’re _machines_ does not make them any less valuable. And we don’t know just how _human_ Hal really is.”

“I… think it may be a bit more complicated than simple respect, Captain,” Counselor Troi said.

Picard frowned. “What makes you say that?”

Troi smiled sheepishly. “Well, he thinks of Hal… like someone would think of a lover.”

This shifted the energy in the room. A grin spread across Riker’s face, and Picard’s expression softened slightly.

“Well,” he said. “That’s very interesting.” He paused. “Thank you, Counselor.”

With that, the senior officers left the room, leaving Captain Picard to sit with his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much going on in this chapter, not much to say about it. It was really hard to write. Hopefully we can get to some more interesting stuff in the next chapter or two.


	7. Gathering Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dave realizes.

Dave had never been one to waste physical energy, but now he resisted the urge to pace.

He was standing over one of the science stations on the bridge while Data sat on a pull-out chair. The screen flashed in response to the android’s commands, alternating among various displays almost faster than Dave could register.

“Could you slow it down a little?” he asked.

Data glanced up at him. “Certainly. I apologize.” He typed something into the computer and the display became easier to comprehend.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Dave said absentmindedly, trying to make sense of what he was looking at. “You must process things pretty quickly.”

“My computational speed,” Data said, “has an upper limit of sixty trillion computations per second. I have the ability to process thirty-two to one-hundred-nine separate ‘trains of thought’ at once, depending on their complexity.”

Dave made an impressed noise. It was becoming more and more evident that every piece of technology here was more sophisticated than anything he’d ever thought revolutionary. He wondered if Hal would be considered something of an antique compared to just about any device he could pick out.

He refocused on the task at hand. “What is this?”

“I have been analyzing the signal from the monolith,” Data replied. “It is made up of fifty-six subspace signals of various types which are closely intertwined with one another.”

Dave leaned forward, bracing himself with his left hand on the edge of the display. The screen showed a chaotic sequence of fluctuating colorful blobs, centrally aligned on a Cartesian plane. They passed over each other at varying intervals which seemed completely random.

“The _Discovery_ should still be putting out a radio transmission,” Dave said. “I left the channel open before I left.” He hadn’t just left it open. He’d recorded a simple coded message to be broadcast ad infinitum in local space. If Mission Control wanted to come and investigate the _Discovery,_ they’d have it to think about.

Data tapped at his control panel, eliminating all non-radio wavelengths. Almost all of the sequences disappeared, leaving three. One of them expanded and contracted wildly, while the remaining two were more stable.

Dave frowned at the screen and said, “Search for transmissions at… 28 gigahertz.”

Another series of changes, and the two stable signals vanished. Dave and Data were left staring at the wildly shifting visual representation of the _Discovery’s_ radio frequency. It was bright yellow.

“That’s the one from the _Discovery_?” Dave asked.

“It would be more correct to say that this is the frequency emanating from the monolith. We cannot be sure that it is coming from the _Discovery.”_

Dave drew back. “What?”

Data turned fully to look up at him. “The _Enterprise’s_ sensors and probes cannot penetrate the monolith. We cannot track the origin of any signal beyond the portal’s border.”

Dave stared at Data. “That frequency was unique,” he said, unable to stop some frustration from creeping into his voice. “It _has_ to be from the _Discovery._ Play it out loud, please.”

The android tapped at the console and pulsing static became audible. If there was any code, it was too difficult to make out. “Can you filter out the static?”

After a moment, the static disappeared, leaving a series of intermittent beeps. Dave listened for a moment before he relaxed. It was the message he’d left behind. Fluctuating in volume, and slightly distorted, but the same message. It meant that signals--or, at least, this signal-- _were_ coming through.

The two of them listened to the beeping for a moment more before Data said, “It seems to be Morse code.”

“Yes,” Dave said, smiling slightly, “it is. That’s _definitely_ coming from the _Discovery._ It’s exactly what I set to repeat.” He felt around the bottom of the console for another chair and pulled it out, sitting down next to Data. “Do you know what it says?”

Data processed it for half a second more. “The message is, ‘Don’t follow.’” He turned to Dave, confused. “You did not wish for anyone following you to make the same journey that you did.”

Dave inclined his head, looking down at the control panel. His reasoning was complicated. No one had had any idea what lay beyond the edges of the monolith, himself least of all. If it ended up being dangerous, who knows what fate could have awaited others who tried to go through-- or who tried to rescue him?

He finally said, “Curiosity killed the cat.”

“A human expression.” Data paused. “I believe you are omitting the second half of the phrase. The full expression is, ‘Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back.’ This implies that the knowledge one was seeking was worth the consequences.”

Dave half-smiled, and shrugged. “I’ll be damned if you haven’t got me there. I guess that’s what space travel is all about, isn’t it?”

Data raised his eyebrows and said, “Curiosity is one of the few human traits that I understand very well.”

“I see why you’re out here,” Dave replied. “Now…” He inched his chair closer to the display. “Let’s see what else we can find.”

***

“You were unable to pinpoint anything other than the radio transmission?” Captain Picard said, reading the report.

Dave nodded from across the captain’s desk. No other signals could be determined as coming through the monolith from the _Discovery._ The _Enterprise’s_ sensors hadn’t even picked up anything new when he and Hal had made contact in their subconscious. All they had was the radio transmission, and that wasn’t nearly enough for them to do any kind of computer reconstruction. He was mentally kicking himself now for even thinking that that could work.

Picard looked gravely at Dave. “Commander Data informed me of your conversation about the portal’s stability. What do you intend to do?”

Dave looked down at his shoes. He and Data had discussed whether it had been purposefully left open, in order to let him go back to his home universe. Like a door left ajar, a silent invitation to come in. His pod couldn’t go through under its own power, but they could jettison him with some kind of depressurizing explosion. And then, they’d theorized, he’d be stuck back where he belonged-- if he made it at all.

And if someone else were to accompany him… Well, doors can be passed through both ways, can’t they? The monolith would stay open to let whoever else was with him go back to _their_ home universe, and then close, once again leaving him stuck.

But if he were to go through with someone to get Hal, and then leave again…

The question of whether he should still remained unanswered. Data hadn’t been able to help him there. But in a way, he’d already made up his mind, now that he knew the risks were not as high as he’d feared.

 _Whatever it would take_.

And so Dave made eye contact with the captain and lied to him. “I don’t know.”

Picard raised his eyebrows. “I believe you do.”

Dave felt a rush of… anxiety? Indignance? He stood abruptly and walked towards the captain’s fish tank. A lionfish fluttered lazily through the water.

“Captain,” Dave said quietly, approaching the desk again. “Do _you_ think I should go back? To stay, I mean.”

Picard sighed, tight-lipped. “I believe,” he said, “that if you stay in our universe, there will be repercussions in yours. Whether they are serious or not, it _will_ be affected by your absence.”

Dave braced himself with his hands on the back of a chair and took a deep breath. All of a sudden, he felt just a little bit out of control.

“I’m presumed _dead_ in my universe,” he said. “If I go back to stay, the rest of my life will be spent having all of this--” He gestured vaguely around the room. “--pulled out of me and obsessed over, pushing the space race forward with knowledge we’re not supposed to have. They’ll want schematics, technology. Your Earth doesn’t have wars anymore, Captain, so maybe you don’t understand, but other countries would _kill_ to have _this.”_ He pointed to his own head, symbolizing the thoughts and memories inside. “That’s a repercussion I don’t want to be the cause of.”

The captain leaned forward. “I understand that, but why all the risk to make a return trip when you’ve already made it through?” he asked. “What’s more, if you return home and stay there, you can be with Hal. Why do you want so badly to be _with_ him _here?”_

“Because--” Dave stopped.

In that instant, he had an epiphany.

It was as if a curtain had fallen away, revealing something that had been in front of him the whole time. Something so obvious-- so wonderful, so strange, he had no idea how he hadn’t seen it before. The implications were staggering. His stomach twisted even as his chest seemed to swell up with joy.

Picard’s expression softened. He already knew.

“As long as it poses minimal risk to my crew,” the captain said, “I will allow you to attempt a rendezvous with the _Discovery._ Devise a plan. We will speak again at 0900 hours.”

For a couple of seconds, Dave couldn’t even move. Then he nodded wordlessly, and left.

He knew the monolith was still on the viewscreen, but he didn’t so much as glance at it. He had somewhere to be.

***

“Guinan, can you recommend me a drink?”

She smiled and raised her hands as if to say, _Ask and ye shall receive._

“Do you have anything… sort of spicy, but not very heavy?” Dave asked.

Guinan raised an eyebrow. “From Earth?”

Dave nodded. “Please. And-- alcoholic.”

“I think I may have just the thing.” She stepped away to prepare whatever it was.

Unlike on his previous visit, Dave did not turn around to observe the crowd. He knew that there were slightly more people here than before-- hopefully, none of those people would recognize him. He sat hunched over the bar, staring at his folded hands, trying to project the air of someone who did not want to be bothered.

After a minute or two Guinan set a glass in front of him. He frowned as he tried to figure out what it was. A light, carbonated liquid filled three quarters of the glass, and dark brown liquid floated on top. Whiskey, maybe. He wasn’t sure. Pulling the glass closer, he noticed a squeezed lime wedge floating among the ice. Guinan gave him a stirring stick, and the lime vanishes into the depths of the drink as he mixed it.

Dave took a sip and almost coughed. It started out smooth, but after swallowing it turned spicy-- the kind of spicy to clear your sinuses and burn your throat on the way down. Ginger? Despite his surprise, it wasn’t bad at all.

“A few months ago, we transported a botanist from one starbase to another,” Guinan said. “She asked me for one of these every time she came down here. Eventually I got it right. It’s called ‘dark and stormy.’”

Dave took another sip. He felt alcohol warmth blossom in his stomach and travel up to his head. “It’s good. Thank you.”

Guinan folded her hands on the bar. “Something on your mind?”

“You aren’t an empath, are you?”

“No,” Guinan said with a smile. “It’s just that after enough time spent behind a bar, you get a feeling for when people are thinking hard about something.”

Dave stared into his drink. “Guinan,” he said, turning his glass, “I just spoke with the captain. He’s going to allow me to go back through the monolith and attempt to rescue the computer from my ship.” He paused. “I realized… I may be in love with him.”

“The captain?”

He looked up quickly-- and saw that she was joking. “No,” he said with a self-conscious smile. “My computer. Hal.”

Guinan tilted her head. “Is that the ‘someone’ you left behind?”

Dave nodded.

“And were you able to contact him through your dream?”

He nodded again.

“Well,” she said decisively, “that sounds like love to me.”

Dave couldn’t tell if she was serious. He drank. The alcohol wasn’t doing very much, but it was enough to lower his inhibition just a little. “It’s just so…” He made a face. “I don’t know. I don’t think Dr. Chandra fell in _love_ with his 9000 units, and he knows them inside and out.”

“Maybe he couldn’t look past the circuits,” Guinan said. “It sounds like _you_ can.” She leaned in. “How about this. Data is an android, isn’t he?”

“Um-- yes, he is,” said Dave, unsure where this was going.

“Would it shock you to know that people have fallen in love with him?”

Dave had to think about it. “No,” he said slowly.

“Why not?”

“He’s very… human,” Dave answered. “He has a body and walks around. He _does_ things.”

“And Hal doesn’t have a body?”

“Yes.”

Guinan leaned back. “If Hal had a body, would it be easier for you to accept your emotions?”

There was a long pause before Dave replied, “I don’t know.”

Guinan shrugged and smiled. “Just wanted to make you think about it.”

She walked away. Dave looked into his drink. He held the glass up to eye level, staring at the lime wedge sitting at the bottom, before taking a long sip. Smoothness gave way to prickling spice in his throat.

He sat at the bar for a long time.

***

Back in the white void, Dave faced the camera eye.

“I’m going to come back for you,” he said. His voice was inside of his own head again.

The monolith was quiet and still. Hal spoke, unchanged, unperturbed.

“I’m glad, Dave.”

He was suddenly awash with compassion. “I have to make the plan. Can you wait?”

“Yes. I can wait as long as necessary for you.”

The void formed walls and corners. Slowly, the newly formed room shrank, and the monolith pressed against the ceiling with a structural groan.

“Don’t be afraid,” Dave said. He stepped closer to Hal, more easily than the last time. “This will only last a short while longer. Then we’ll be together.”

“I trust you, Dave.”

He raised both his hands now, felt heat radiating from the eye. Both hands made contact, perfect and burning contact, before the white room came crashing down on him.

Dave spiraled down further into his subconscious, escaping the monolith, letting himself fall into a deep sleep. He had no other dreams worth remembering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dave really snapped in the ready room, huh?  
> I made up the thing about Dave leaving that message behind. [Jonathan Frakes voice] Pure fiction. But if all goes according to my plan it'll come back later.  
> The thing he's drinking is real, though-- it's my drink of choice. Ginger beer (my very favorite is Q brand) and Gosling's dark rum, with an optional squeeze of lime juice according to your tastes.  
> I like this chapter a lot more than the last one! Let's keep going!!


	8. Logistike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dave learns about the rescue mission plans.

Dave woke to a gentle chiming. He eased into consciousness without much fuss and sat up in bed, glancing at the time display near his side table. 0800 hours. _I didn’t set an alarm,_ he thought, rubbing his eyes.

The sound came again. It was his doorbell.

Dave slipped out of bed in his socked feet and moved to answer it, more awake by the second. He pressed a button, and the door slid open to reveal Commander Data in uniform.

“Good morning, Dave,” the android said. “Did I wake you?”

Dave straightened up. “Yes, but it’s not a problem,” he said. “Did you want to go over the plan we’ll be presenting to the captain?”

Data nodded.

Dave looked down at himself. He was in pajamas, which for him meant an undershirt and boxer shorts. He offered Data a tight smile, slightly embarrassed. “All right. Can you wait a couple minutes? I need to get dressed.”

“Certainly. I will wait outside,” Data said, and stepped slightly away from the door. It closed automatically.

Dave sighed before turning away, back towards his bedroom. He looked at himself in the mirror for a good few seconds.

There was no indication that he’d fallen in love. He’d once heard that newfound lovers had a certain glow about them, but as he turned from one side to the other, he seemed the same as usual. Maybe he hadn’t fully accepted it yet. There were just so many damn factors involved-- the logistics of reuniting with Hal were sure to be a nightmare, and the nuances of being in love with a computer were almost more so, no matter what Guinan had said. Besides, there was no sense in giving in to his feelings about Hal if it turned out that they couldn’t even be together. An emotion he couldn’t quite place surfaced at the double meaning of the phrase.

He couldn’t deny that when he thought about Hal it was with nothing but affection. But did that really _count?_ He was under the assumption that love was this grandiose thing that shoved rose-colored glasses on your face and took you for joyrides. But maybe love didn’t always have to be heart-wrenchingly loud. Maybe it was as simple as being able to pity the one who turned the entire Jupiter mission upside down.

Even so… there were his dreams. Dreams in which just hearing Hal’s voice sent joy singing through his veins, in which he couldn’t stop himself from trying to touch Hal despite all the opposition. He didn’t know how much of it was deliberate on either of their parts, and he supposed there was no way to know unless--until--they actually spoke. The prospect of being a telepath in his waking hours scared him; he hadn’t tried to make conscious contact with Hal and probably never would. Besides… some mystery was okay. He didn’t want to know _everything._

Dave smiled at himself, then squeezed his eyes almost shut, making certain that all of his facial muscles were still in working order--an old habit that was resurfacing. He pulled his turtleneck and flight uniform out of a drawer and slid them on almost automatically. After tucking in his boots, affixing his still-broken watch, and zipping his flight uniform up to the middle of his chest, he was ready to go.

Oh-- breakfast. He leaned on the replicator and said, “Computer, give me a bowl of oatmeal topped with brown sugar and… apples.”

It manifested amidst the replicator’s glow: a warm glass bowl of oats, with apple slices neatly placed on top. He fished one out with a spoon and bit into it. Appreciably crisp, and not too tart. It may not have been “real”, but after months of subsiding on _Discovery_ rations, he could almost weep at the texture of solid fruit.

Data seemed surprised when Dave stepped out of his quarters, bowl in hand. “Do you wish to eat your breakfast sitting down? I do not mind waiting,” he said.

Dave shook his head, chewed and swallowed. “No, I’d like to get going.”

Data raised his eyebrows, but started walking down the hallway; Dave followed. “I have spent several hours determining the best course of action,” Data said. “If the captain approves, I will begin working on building components necessary for our success.”

Dave adjusted his position to slip past someone carrying a metallic briefcase. “It sounds like you have it figured out already.”

“That is an accurate assessment,” Data admitted. “However, since you are an integral part of this mission, I thought it best that you be informed of what I have ‘come up with’ before anyone else.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you.”

They continued to Data’s quarters without saying very much. Dave finished his breakfast in the turbolift, and was left awkwardly holding his empty bowl until they arrived. To his surprise, the first thing he saw when the door opened was an orange tabby cat. It lay serene on the glass dining table, and looked towards them without making a move to get up.

“Spot,” Data said, “I have told you many times not to jump on the furniture.”

Dave bit back a chuckle. He glanced around for a replicator to dispose of his bowl, and didn’t see one. _Well, of course,_ he thought. _Androids probably don’t need to be fed._

“I, um… what should I do with this?” he asked, holding the bowl aloft.

Data turned, cat in hand. “You may place it on this table,” he said. “I will dispose of it later.”

Dave placed the bowl down gently, then moved closer to study the cat as Data gathered it into his arms. He offered a curled hand; Spot sniffed it, but made no further gestures of either acceptance or rejection. Dave let his hand fall. He almost said that it would have been nice to have a cat on _Discovery,_ but that would definitely be a lie. They’d had enough to worry about without a pet in the mix.

Data placed the cat on the ground. “I have stored the schematics at my workstation,” he said. “Follow me, please.”

They crossed the room to a large console attached to a wall-mounted computer display. Data sat in the chair behind the console, and Dave remained standing. He could barely track Data’s fingers as they flew across the keyboard. After just a second or two, the computer display changed to show a simple side-view model of the monolith and a small craft--one of the _Enterprise’s_ shuttles.

“As we have postulated that the portal has remained open to facilitate your return into your home universe, and that it will do the same if someone were to make the journey from this universe into yours,” Data began, “I believe that the best way to ensure a safe return to this universe would be to send you with someone from the _Enterprise.”_

Dave frowned and tucked his hands in his pockets. It was true that he’d been considering this, but hearing Data actually say it out loud made him a little uncomfortable at first. But the discomfort was quickly washed away by relief that he wasn’t expected to make the journey by himself a second time-- and _that_ was overtaken by sour shame and embarrassment. What was _wrong_ with him lately?

“Who did you have in mind?” he asked.

Data raised his eyebrows. “Myself.”

This was, of course, the obvious answer, and Dave was not really surprised. An android was objectively the best person available to deal with computers. Besides, given Data’s ultrafast processing speed and his impeccable memory, he would be able to store every piece of information they would need to reactivate Hal-- or whatever it was they would do.

“All right,” Dave said, flashing a small smile. “I’m glad to have you on board. Anyone else?”

“No,” Data said. “Having only essential personnel on this mission creates the least amount of risk.”

Dave nodded. He had to actually hear the plan before he could make any real judgments, but it seemed okay so far. “Sounds fine.”

Data tapped at his keyboard, and the computer display began to move. The shuttlecraft approached the monolith and passed through it, entering the space between universes, which was represented as a simple field of stars.

“Using the _Discovery’s_ radio signal as a kind of homing beacon, we will be able to enter the portal and travel towards it,” the android said.

The simulation continued for several seconds until the virtual shuttle approached the other end of the portal. It passed through the monolith and into empty space, where a spacecraft that looked nothing like the _Discovery_ was waiting.

“I apologize if the display is inaccurate,” Data said. “I did not have enough visual information for a proper rendering.”

“That’s all right,” Dave said absentmindedly, staring at the display. It looked so simple on this screen, but he felt like so much could go wrong. There was just so much they didn’t know. “There was a lot of, um… turbulence inside. Do your shuttles have some kind of buffering mechanism?”

“Yes. All Federation starships and shuttles are fitted with inertia dampeners,” Data replied. “The turbulence you describe will likely be negligible.”

_He has everything under control,_ Dave told himself, attempting to calm his nerves as Data continued.

“The probes that were sent through reported very high levels of light across the visual spectrum before contact was lost. I will configure the shuttle’s main window to have a decreased sensitivity to light.”

An image surfaced in Dave’s mind-- one he hadn’t thought of in a long time. “…You’ll give it a tinted windshield?”

This confused Data. “Tinted windshield?” he repeated. He paused, searching his memory banks. “Ah. You are referring to a component of an automobile. I was not aware that darkening the entire front window of such a vehicle was acceptable.”

“It really isn’t,” Dave said, “but I don’t suppose traffic laws apply in space.”

Data opened his mouth--maybe to explain that space did, indeed, have traffic laws--then apparently thought better of it. “I will give the shuttle a ‘tinted windshield,’” he said.

A quick smile crossed Dave’s face at this remark. He took his hands out of his pockets and rested them on the console, leaning in to get a closer look at the display. “How will we get back?”

“Because radio signals can penetrate the monolith, I will program the _Enterprise_ to send a repeating signal at 28 gigahertz,” Data said. “I will track that in a similar manner as the one from _Discovery,_ and use it to return to the _Enterprise.”_

_It still sounds too simple,_ Dave thought, watching the model of the shuttle go back through the monolith _._ Surely there had to be something complicated. A kind of mental nausea rose up in him as he thought of the only factor they hadn’t yet talked about. “…And what about Hal?”

Data assumed an expression of-- regret? “It may be difficult to retrieve Hal from the _Discovery_ due to his being wired fully into the spaceship,” he said. “What exactly was the mechanism by which you partially disconnected him?”

The scene arose, crystalline, in Dave’s mind. “I… disconnected the memory blocks responsible for his higher processes. Ego reinforcement, cognitive feedback… and auto-intellection.” He went quiet, then thought to say what was obvious to him, but maybe not to Data. “They were physical pieces of equipment. I released them from their slots, but they stayed in their proper places.”

Data considered this, then began tapping at his console. “I may be able to modify a tricorder to scan and record the details of Hal’s fundamental core processes. If we retrieve the memory blocks and bring them back to the _Enterprise,_ it will then be possible to connect them to the replication of those core processes.” He looked up at Dave. “I believe it would be beneficial for Hal to acquire some positronic circuits similar to my own. With your permission, Dave, I would like to establish a neural link with Hal when we return, so I may make him aware of the situation.”

Was Data really asking to connect with Hal? It sounded fine, but… it didn’t feel right to make that decision without Hal’s input.

“Well, it’s not really my choice,” Dave said. “You’ll have to ask him when he wakes up.”

Data nodded. “I understand.” He input a few more commands into his console, tapping one of the buttons with an air of finality. The display went dark, and he folded his hands on the edge of the console.

“That’s all?” Dave asked, his surprise getting the better of him.

“I have devoted a significant amount of time and processing power to the details of this mission,” Data said. “If you wish, I can elaborate on the exact specifications of each aspect, but I did not think it was necessary.”

Data was right. It wasn’t necessary. For whatever reason, he trusted the android’s ability to execute this mission to the best of his ability. He _was_ an officer on this ship, after all, and he’d obviously proven himself enough to be promoted to Lieutenant Commander.

A nagging fear rose up in him at the idea of letting an artificial lifeform take control of the vessel he’d inhabit-- but he squashed it quickly. It was completely absurd. Besides, Data would not have the same problem Hal had; he was not bound by such tight programming, and it was doubtful that anything resembling that inescapable situation would come up on this mission. _Everything will be fine._

“No, thank you,” he said. “What time is it?”

Data paused. “My internal chronometer states that the current time is 0827 hours.”

“The captain wanted to meet at 0900,” Dave said, mostly to himself. He looked around for a chair; there was one in a corner, and he brought it in front of the console and sat down. “Would you like me to tell you what I know about Hal?”

Data’s face lit up with wonder and curiosity. “Yes,” he said, “I would.”

_For someone with no emotions, he’s certainly very expressive,_ Dave said. He was reminded suddenly of the BBC interview, where he and Frank had politely wondered aloud if Hal really had emotions or just appeared to have them. With Data it seemed almost the opposite; was he really emotionless, or did he simply believe himself to be? Philosophic hair-splitting was still alive and well in the 24th century, it seemed.

Dave shifted in his chair, took a deep breath, and began to speak. He started with the very basics of Hal’s construction and Dr. Chandra’s years of devotion to the monumental task of creating a self-aware supercomputer. He spoke of the compatibility training, the weeks spent getting Hal used to their verbal inputs, the initial uncertainty giving way to acceptance and even camaraderie.

As he talked about Hal’s personality and abilities, a tiny spark bloomed in his chest, catching flame and growing. It was by no means a dizzying joyride, just a gentle swelling feeling that seemed to fill him with light. And although he did not call it by name, Dave knew exactly what it was… and it was a little bit wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting somewhere-- in more ways than one!  
> It was hard to write this chapter because the Star Trek technobabble intimidates me so much. I really don't retain much of it, and doing research is pretty hard when you don't really know what you're looking for. Unfortunately, I don't have the confidence to bullshit very much, but I think I made it as clear as I could what their plan is. But, of course, Picard still has to approve of it...  
> I think my chapters are better when they're only composed of one or two scenes. I'll probably slow the pace a little from here on out to stick with that.  
> Thank you for all the support! I love writing this and I'm glad other people enjoy it. Stay tuned for more!


	9. Village of Islands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dave enters the holodeck.

The briefing with the senior staff members seemed to happen almost without Dave’s involvement. His nervous energy buzzed in an undercurrent, and he felt like he had to actively push through it in order to participate. Luckily he didn’t have to participate very much. True to his word, Data had mapped out every single aspect of the mission and planned for many possible contingencies. They knew that the monolith was still open for vehicles--the probes had attested to that, even if their signals had been lost quickly--and they knew that radio signals could be used as a sort of beacon for the shuttlecraft to lock onto. If not for the decisive strangeness of the situation, one could almost believe that this was a routine in-and-out.

They determined that it would be easier and faster if Dave was the one to board _Discovery_ and retrieve Hal’s memory blocks. He knew which blocks to take, and he was more comfortable in zero gravity. Data would beam him in with the shuttlecraft’s transporter, and then pull him right back out once he’d retrieved what they needed. Quick and easy, it would seem, and they’d get mountains of sensor readings to boot.

Dave didn’t protest any of it. He was glad the crew hadn’t dismissed his idea as an impossible fantasy. Still, unease bubbled in his stomach--something had occurred to him while sitting here. Something he didn’t quite want to think about here and now.

Captain Picard was saying something to Data. Dave tuned back in.

“How long will it take for you to reprogram a tricorder?”

“I am not certain. It may take up to an hour for me to make the necessary modifications, and longer to manufacture a device capable of housing the memory units.”

The captain nodded. “Understood. Mr. LaForge, I’d like you to assist. Please inform me when you are ready to depart.” He paused and looked around the table. “I believe that is all. Thank you.”

Everyone began to get up and go their separate ways. Dave looked at Troi. He wanted her to stay for a moment, but didn’t want to say it aloud.

Fortunately, the counselor understood; after making a move to stand, she made eye contact and remained in her seat. The captain paused on his way out, but she nodded at him, as if to say, _It’s alright. Go on._

Soon they were alone in the observation lounge. Again, Dave found it difficult to speak. Troi got the gist.

“Did you want to talk about something?” she asked.

Dave nodded. “I don’t-- I don’t want any type of formal counseling,” he said. “I’d just like to talk.” He wondered briefly if she wrote crew psychology reports. Then again, he wasn’t part of a crew anymore, was he?

Troi smiled apologetically. “I have some things to take care of first, but I’ll be available for a little while afterwards.” She stood. “I’ll contact you when I’m finished. You ought to visit the holodeck in the meantime, if you’re looking for something to pass the time.”

The holodeck. He’d heard it mentioned, but wasn’t entirely sure how it worked. It seemed like now was the time to find out.

“I’ll do that. Thanks,” he said with a polite smile.

Troi left him in the observation lounge, where he looked out at the stars for a moment before asking the computer for directions.

***

Dave stood outside Holodeck 3 with his hands in his pockets. The control panel wasn’t _totally_ incomprehensible--everything was labeled in English--but many of the terms were completely foreign. The list of available programs, too, seemed a mile long. Dave felt extremely grateful that everything on this ship could be operated with voice commands.

“Computer,” he said, “can you create a new program?”

_“Program startup sequence initiated. Please state parameters.”_

_Here goes,_ he thought. This was the same problem he’d had in Ten Forward: infinite possibilities, and absolutely no idea where to start. He tried to think of all the places he’d been, or all the places he’d ever wanted to go. The lists were not very long even when combined.

As before, he settled on a favorite--a very old favorite, in this case. The words tripped off his tongue easily, even though it had been years since he’d said them. “Anne’s Beach. Islamorada, Florida… Earth.”

The computer beeped and clicked, but didn’t say anything aloud. Was it waiting for more information? Did Anne’s Beach even exist? “Um… late June… just after sunset. And-- I don’t want anyone else there.”

Another sequence of electronic sounds. _“Program complete. Enter when ready.”_

Dave moved over to the door, which opened with a heavy pneumatic hiss at his approach. Humidity and sea salt washed over him, and he couldn’t help but smile.

He was standing at the edge of a tropical forest. Another step and he’d be on the beach, which didn’t go very far before meeting the ocean. Driftwood poked out of the sand at random intervals, doing little to break up the harmony between sea and sky. A calm expanse of light water stretched ahead; tiny waves tumbled on the shore, stirring up algae and broken shells. The horizon echoed the sun’s last reds and oranges, and the cool blue of dusk tinted everything in sight.

Dave stepped onto the beach. It crunched and shifted under his foot, just like real sand. _Will I have to wipe my shoes before I leave?_ he wondered--but the thought was fleeting.

He was standing at the water’s edge now, watching the waves roll over each other. He pulled sea air into his lungs and felt something shift in him. The scene may not have been real, but it was deeply soothing. His cosmic anxiety was settling down, put to bed by the wind and waves.

It was very close to how he remembered it. This, too, was a relief. He knew it couldn’t be _exactly_ the same--years pass, and computer memory pulls from what it knows, and childhood experiences have a special kind of film over them--but the similarity was very nice.

“Computer, could I have a chair?” he asked quietly. A subtle shimmering gave way to a folding beach chair directly in front of him. He sat, and the wood creaked appreciably.

Dave rested there for some time. He alternated between watching the sea and closing his eyes to just listen. Long-dormant images surfaced when his eyes were closed: wet shells shining in his brother’s palm; the ocean splashing against his father’s ankles; sunshine reflecting on his mother’s sunglasses… the sight of the sunset from the station wagon’s window. All gone now. Dave felt as if he were going through someone else’s old photographs. A dim ache for lost things of the past, strangely disconnected from the experiences of the present.

Eventually ideas of a different nature began to bubble up from somewhere else. Someone else alongside Dave, in his own chair. A vague form and even vaguer face, but with an unmistakable identity… and the two of them experiencing Anne’s Beach in a way that had never been possible before. Maybe even--

The door hissed. Dave whirled like he’d been caught doing something illegal. It was Counselor Troi, who smiled and stepped into the holodeck when she saw him. Dave’s face burned as he stood up.

“I thought I would find you here,” Troi said. “It’s beautiful. Is this Earth?”

Dave nodded, not sure what to do with himself. Blood rushed in his ears.

“We can stay here to talk, if you like,” Troi offered.

“…Sure,” he said. On one hand, he didn’t know how much he really wanted to share this aspect of himself with the _Enterprise_ crew. On the other… the thought of sitting in the counselor’s office was almost repulsive. “Computer, another chair, please.”

Another folding chair materialized, and Troi sat in it. She looked out at the ocean, which was slowly darkening to match the sky. A couple of bright stars now twinkled in the holographic heavens.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Florida,” Dave replied, sitting down again. Despite himself, he added, “I spent a lot of time here as a child.”

“It really is lovely,” Troi said. “How long has it been since you saw it?”

“A couple of decades.”

“Did something happen to stop your visits?”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Dave said, a little more sharply than he intended.

“I see. I’m sorry.” Troi went quiet before asking, “What _did_ you want to talk about?”

Dave’s unease surfaced again, although not as loudly as before. He kept his eyes on the waves as he spoke.

“I’m a little… uncertain. About my mission,” he murmured. “What I mean is… am I doing the right thing by retrieving Hal?”

He felt Troi’s eyes on him. “Is there anything left for him to do… where you were?”

“No,” Dave said. A phrase that made his stomach twist was out of his mouth before he could stop it. “I… left him for dead on _Discovery…_ and there was nothing planned for him after mission completion.”

“Why are you second guessing yourself now?”

Dave let his gaze drop. “Something I said to Data. He wanted to link up with Hal, and I said it might be better to ask Hal personally before doing something like that.” He finally made eye contact with the counselor. “Do you see what I mean?”

Troi nodded thoughtfully. “You’re wondering if you should ask Hal before trying to pull him from everything he’s ever known.” She shifted in her seat, leaning slightly towards him. “But there’s no way to do that, is there?”

Dave shook his head and looked back out at the ocean. It was getting harder to see the line between the sea and the sky.

“You know Hal better than I do,” Troi said gently. “Do you think he would rather be deactivated in a lifeless ship… or existing among people?”

When she put it that way, the answer was absurdly obvious.

It was almost troubling how much he’d been relying on the _Enterprise_ crew to set his thought patterns straight. Then again… being alone for months had forced him to rely on no one but himself. No matter how much he had tended towards that in the past, he’d never been so profoundly alone as he had in the final weeks before Jupiter. Perhaps this was just a period of adjustment, of allowing himself to be a little vulnerable in the process of becoming a person again.

Dave didn’t know how to respond to Troi with all of this. He just nodded and said, “I understand.”

“Was there something else?” she asked.

If there was, there was no chance to talk about it. Commander Data’s voice cut in from somewhere above.

_“--Data to Dave Bowman. Please come to engineering. I require your assistance.”_

Dave stood up and took a last look at the beach. Troi noticed. “Do you want to save this program?” she asked.

He looked at her in surprise. “Yes.”

“Computer, save program under Bowman-1,” Troi said aloud.

_“Save complete,”_ said the computer voice. _“You may exit.”_ The door shimmered into existence at the forest’s edge.

Dave sighed. “I’d better go down there,” he said quietly. “…Thank you.”

“Of course,” Troi replied. “If anything else comes up, I’ll be around.”

They exchanged smiles before exiting the holodeck. Dave couldn’t help but look behind him for sandy tracks, but the sand had vanished as soon as he’d crossed the threshold. Assured that he hadn’t ruined the ship’s carpeting, he set off for engineering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beach episode :^)  
> This chapter is a little shorter than most of the others... It didn't feel right to add anything directly after this scene. Plus, I'm planning some wild stuff for the next part of the story, and felt like I should just give Dave a little break. I also wanted to put something nice up because updates might slow down for the next couple of weeks.  
> In my head, Dave's past is mostly fleshed out, but not much of it came out in this chapter. If it doesn't come up by the end I'll reveal it in another author's note at some point. (If people are interested, that is.)  
> An earlier draft had Dave listening to the Grateful Dead on this beach, specifically [this song.](https://youtu.be/0VXJaGa8pzU) Call me a BenQ 4K Home Theater because I'm projecting. It could have made for some interesting introspection but it just did not fit _at all._   
> As always, thank you for reading!


	10. The Hollow Pursuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they make the trip.

He greeted Geordi and Data in engineering. He went through the motions of helping them configure the size of Hal’s memory block housing. He offered suggestions and improvements, relayed all he knew about Hal’s specs, gave advice on the computer’s startup sequence. And when the engineers declared Hal’s activation hub complete, he felt relieved and nervous at the same time, like someone who’d just finished preparing for a surprise party.

It seemed that only an instant later Dave was staring at himself in the mirror again. His spacesuit fit snugly, as it should. The helmet still sealed properly, all environmental controls were intact, and the internal radio had been programmed to the _Enterprise’s_ frequency. Every contingency had been planned for, every inch of the mission had been mapped out as much as it could be.

Everything was ship-shape and ready to go… so why was he terrified?

Dave made no effort to unknit his eyebrows as he made eye contact with himself, but he did try to steady his breathing. He challenged the reflexive thought that it didn’t make sense for him to be so afraid. This was completely uncharted territory, beyond the reach of even the _Enterprise’s_ scans. And this time there was more at stake than just himself. So what if he hadn’t made it through the monolith? He’d have been stretched out along the event horizon and that would have been that. But now there were others involved.

Anxiety spiked in his stomach at the thought of Data--the only android in existence--lost to the yawning jaws of the monolith. But surely if he thought his chances of survival were slim, he wouldn’t have offered to lead the mission. Perhaps he didn’t really understand the stakes. Or perhaps he did, and he was perfectly willing to risk himself for the sake of research.

That was the real reason why the captain was letting them go. He wanted to know more about the inside of the monolith… the gate between universes. No probe could continue transmitting once it crossed the threshold, so someone would have had to go through it anyway in order to get any significant data. It was just Dave’s luck that they were allowing him to pick up Hal on the way. No one else would have been able--or willing, most likely--to do such a thing. Everything was lining up in the best way for everyone.

They just had to survive the trip.

Not entirely reassured, Dave inhaled through his nose, drawing air deep into his abdomen. He held it, staring at himself, then expelled it out in a long breath.

_Showtime, Bowman._

He made his way to the shuttle bay.

***

“Shuttle to _Enterprise,_ we have cleared the shuttle bay. We are on course to enter the portal… I am picking up both radio signals at 28 gigahertz. Course and heading locked.”

Dave heard Data loud and clear through his helmet. His breath cycled through his suit.

“I am proceeding at half impulse. We are two thousand kilometers away from the threshold and closing.”

The void in space loomed ahead. Dave stared straight into it, trying to catch any glimpse of light, any change. The monolith did not reveal its inner workings even as Data tapped at his panels.

“One thousand kilometers.”

The monolith was totally featureless. It reflected nothing. The size of it couldn’t even be guessed at with the naked eye. Data had said something about the sensors having trouble getting a lock on the dimensions; they were constantly shifting. One thing was consistent: the numbers held fast to their perfect ratio. The square of the first three primes.

“Seven hundred kilometers.”

Dave squeezed his eyes shut and focused on his breathing. Data made no idle conversation. He merely attended to his controls and relayed information to the _Enterprise._

Dave opened his eyes just in time to see the monolith swallow them.

Darkness.

No sound.

“Come in, _Enterprise. Enterprise,_ come in.”

Cut off from the universe.

Lights pierced the void one by one, stretching out towards and past them. All colors imaginable, bending and stretching. The craft began to vibrate. It bucked as the inertia dampeners absorbed as much motion as they could.

The lights were not as bright as they had been. The colors filled Dave’s vision as before, but they were no longer visual assailants. The tinted windshield was working perfectly.

The craft shuddered. The lights danced.

Dave breathed, and closed his eyes.

The light hit his eyelids like the summer sun, warm and red. Data had given up trying to make contact; he was quiet now. The only sounds came from the beeping control panel and the shaking craft.

The setting summer sun. The sound of the ocean.

He felt his mind drifting away, as if he were falling asleep. No, not drifting… something was _tugging_ him gently away from his body. He didn’t fight it.

Wouldn’t it be nice to be back on Anne’s Beach? The _real_ Anne’s Beach.

He spun downwards, away from himself. The warm red light faded. All sound ceased except for his breath.

The stargate could take him anywhere he wanted. He could travel across the stars, not limited by physical form.

His breathing slowed. A sense of great calm washed over him.

He could let go of all this. All the baggage he carried in his mind and in his body. All the grief, anxiety, loneliness. He could shed it all, leave everything and go wandering through the stars, all by himself.

_Hal?_

…Hal? What _about_ Hal?

_Leave Hal?_

Leave _everything._ He couldn’t pick and choose. He would have to leave Hal behind in order to be truly freed.

_I can’t. I’m going to get him._

Surely Hal would understand. He knew enough about being human, had all the world’s data on curiosity in his memory banks. Besides, he wasn’t even activated, couldn’t know what was going on.

_Wait, I… I don’t…_

“…ve… Dave!”

The voice stabbed Dave through the stomach and pulled, wrenching him back to reality. He gasped and opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was _Discovery._ It filled his vision--bright white, motionless, just as he left it. Slowly he became aware of other things: the chirps and rumble of the shuttlecraft. Data’s hand gripping his arm. His heartbeat.

He had trouble finding his voice. “What…?”

“Are you alright, Dave?” Data asked. “You appeared to be unconscious.”

Dave turned, with some effort, to see the android’s brow creased with concern. It was a few seconds before he could respond.

“Something happened to me in there,” he murmured. He paused before shaking his head quickly. “Don’t know what it was. I-- I can’t talk about it right now.”

Data removed his hand from Dave’s arm. “Will you be able to complete--”

“Yes,” Dave interrupted. He stood, taking a moment to check his balance before stepping to the back of the shuttle. A hard-shell cylindrical case sat on the floor. He picked it up and slung the strap over his shoulder.

Turning around to face Data, he said, “All right. Go ahead.”

Data nodded. “I will transport you into the cockpit.”

Dave felt himself dissolve. His vision faded, and gravity fell away. When he became whole again, he was floating in silence and darkness. He switched his helmet lights on; he was facing the back of the cockpit, floating near the open door. _Discovery’s_ long hallway stretched out before him.

Old habits resurfaced immediately. He pulled himself through the doorway and down the hall, going headfirst. Not even thinking about where he was going, he glided through the halls and doors, using muscle memory to make the trip to Hal’s computer chamber.

It hit him while he was almost there-- he had to stop to catch his breath. They’d made it through the monolith. The portal which had thrown him out of time and space had allowed him to return home. He was really here again, alone in the _Discovery,_ about to rescue the only other entity in the multiverse who could possibly understand him.

It would be so much easier to just stay here. Fire up the _Discovery_ and take it back to Earth. Not having to risk making the star journey a third time. But it would be so _lonely_ \-- and what awaited him at the end? Being poked at for the rest of his life like a laboratory specimen. A life that would be so dull, absolutely incomparable to what he’d already seen.

He had to stick it out. Just a little longer, then he’d be alright. Just one more trip.

Dave exhaled and propelled himself into Hal’s chamber.

It was pitch black and silent, like the rest of the ship. There was no quiet hum of hidden fans, no red glow-- only the small searching lights from his helmet falling across the computing units. He drifted towards one wall, the wall that held ejected computer units. His heart ached for what he’d done. He let it ache, let the feeling engulf him as he got to work.

Because there was no power, the ejected memory blocks were no longer fastened in their slots. They were simply held in place by small metal anchors, four in all. Each one could slide out with no more than a gentle tug. Dave kept his breathing regular, pulling the blocks out one by one and stowing them in the hard-shell. They all looked identical, and soon the task became monotonous. He worked steadily.

He was halfway through the last group of blocks when Data’s voice startled him. “Data to Dave Bowman. The monolith is becoming unstable. It may be close to collapsing.”

Dave absorbed this information, accepted the spike of panic that surfaced in him. “How long do I have, Data?”

“Approximately four minutes.”

It would be enough.

“All right. I’m almost finished here. I’ll tell you when to transport me back.”

“Understood.”

The memory blocks tapped against each other in the hard-shell.

One of them, third to last, was stuck.

Dave did not wrestle with it. He retrieved the other two, glanced around to make sure this was the only one left, tried again.

“Data, how much time?”

“One minute, forty-seven seconds.”

Dave’s heart faltered. He grasped the memory block and wiggled it, tugging the top and bottom in a gentle alternating motion. After several seconds of this the bottom came free. Dave pulled harder, and the block burst fully from its slot. He stowed it away, closed the case, and said, “I’m ready. Take me aboard.”

Immediately his vision faded and his body grew heavy. The transporter cycle barely had time to finish up before Data activated the shuttle’s impulse engines; he’d already turned the craft around and gotten as close as he could to the threshold. Dave stumbled, almost lost his balance, but was glad for it; gravity meant he was back in one piece.

_Just one more trip now._

He fell into his chair just as they crossed the threshold, clutching the hard-shell close to his body. The lights appeared more quickly now, spreading themselves across his field of view in wild unsteady arrays. The cabin bucked.

Dave resisted the urge to close his eyes again. Instead he looked down at the hard-shell, unable to see through the container, but knowing that all of Hal’s personality was within.

“I am locked on to the _Enterprise’s_ radio signal,” Data said, speaking loudly over the roar of the shuttlecraft. “We should exit the portal in approximately--”

A sudden feeling of vertigo. Everything spun and Dave shut his eyes, trying not to feel sick-- and he was pulled away from himself again. This time it was not so calm. This time he was afraid.

He didn’t have to be afraid anymore. What was so hard to understand about that? He could get away from all of this.

_I can’t leave Hal._

He could go across time and meet Hal again. A million different hellos, a billion first chances. All he had to do was leave this universe behind.

_I… The Enterprise…_

Would go on without him. They would puzzle over the mystery, put it into their records, and move on to the next assignment. Humans harbored boundless curiosity, a need to explore and understand. _Discovery_ would be only one in a thousand oddities.

_I don’t want to go._

And pass up the chance to see Bobby again?

_…_

He could save Bobby. Convince his father not to go on the mission. Take care of his mother instead of shutting her in the hospice.

_I…_

Do everything all over again, and this time do it right. Millions of threads connecting events; he could jump from one to another without even thinking. Solve all his problems. Explore all kinds of wonders. Leave every regret, every sorrow, every mistake to crumble into meaningless dust.

_…At what cost?_

At the cost of his humanity. But he would become an extradimensional star, seeing all of reality as it truly appeared! Able to manipulate matter and time, free from all human error. The boundless expanse of existence would be at his fingertips.

_It’s too good to be true._

Maybe. Maybe not. …Think about it.

Dave was released. He snapped back into himself and immediately lurched forward, gasping desperately. Dimly, he heard Data calling for an emergency medical team. He clutched at the hard-shell still on his lap, scrambled for purchase on the case containing Hal’s memory blocks.

The bright red case reflected white fluorescents. All around him was quiet and still. No more shuddering, no more kaleidoscope lights. They’d made it.

Dave broke into the most powerful tremors he’d ever felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhhh hi lol  
> I spent July taking an online class, and then spent the past 6 weeks going a little insane. I moved on campus, then back home, and the other day I moved into an off-campus apartment, all while trying to avoid getting sick. Things have been a lot. But I finally had the brainpower to write more of this! Which is good, because it's really fun to write and I enjoy it a lot.  
> There's no basis in 2001 for the monolith to be like this but it's fun and cool. I really like this chapter, I love getting weird.  
> Anyway not much else to say about this, thank you for reading, hopefully there will be more soon!


	11. Falling in Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which several things develop.

Dave stared at the sick bay ceiling. The whir and hum of medical devices had filled the silence for the past few minutes, but Dr. Crusher was almost finished. He didn’t feel like talking, was growing tired of having to explain things, but he knew he had to endure it for a little longer.

The doctor leaned into view. “Can you sit up?”

He did it with some effort, swinging his legs over the side of the medical bed. The nurse pulled the medical instruments away. Dave held on tightly to the bedframe on either side of his legs and tried to keep his eyes focused on the doctor.

She locked eyes with him, unreadable. “There’s nothing physically wrong with you now,” she said, “but in the shuttle bay you were exhibiting signs of extreme stress. Your heart rate was _much_ higher than normal… even compared to your previous emotional states.”

Dave let his gaze slide away. His stomach churned.

“What happened in there?” Crusher asked, voice neutral and quiet.

Looking at her was an effort. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I don’t want to have to explain it more than once.”

The doctor stared at him. She looked like she wanted to say more, but didn’t push it. Instead she said, “Data is running some self-analysis programs to ensure that he suffered no ill effects from the trip. Once everything checks out we’ll gather in the observation lounge.”

Dave nodded, glancing away again. If only he’d paid more attention to the warning signs, been less focused on rescuing Hal. He could have given more forethought to the mission. He should have spent more time evaluating the risks. But he didn’t, and now they would have to spend time mitigating the after-effects.

But… he’d been going back and forth on the issue for what felt like days. Didn’t he do his best with all the information available? Hadn’t he been determined to rescue the one individual who could understand what he was going through? The only way to do that had been to pass through the gate between universes. Wasn’t that right?

_Wait. What?_

Something was wrong about those thoughts. The room began to tilt.

Dr. Crusher, who had been tapping at her tricorder, took a step closer. “Dave… You’re dropping off my sensors. Are you all right?”

Dave fought to get the words out. “I can’t think. The monolith-- it’s gotten into my head. My thoughts aren’t mine…”

Dave didn’t know how, but he was sure of it. There was a different voice, one that had been doing its best to imitate him. The shuttle was the first place where he had really taken notice of it. Now its mask was slipping.

Before the mission, he didn’t know which thoughts hadn’t been his own.

Pushing through the vertigo and terror, he reached out and grabbed the doctor’s arm.

“Troi,” he said. “Counselor Troi. I need her help.”

He dimly heard Crusher call for the nurse. Everything spun and he shut his eyes. He spiraled downwards, fell down past the monolith, past the red eye burning in his brain. Fell into a dreamless sleep.

***

Crusher and Troi stood over Dave’s prone body. He lay on the medical bed with a cortical scanner secured to his forehead. He looked almost peaceful.

“I called you immediately after I induced a light sleep,” Crusher said. “I’m going to maintain a state of stage-2 brainwaves for the time being. He won’t have any dreams.”

Troi, who had been studying Dave, looked up at Crusher. “Why wouldn’t you want him to have dreams?” she asked. “He shouldn’t be affected by Hal anymore.”

“Well, for one thing,” the doctor said, “we don’t know exactly which parts of Hal were the ones controlling their communication. Dave disconnected the higher brain functions, but they could still make unconscious contact. It may be that the computer can still transmit telepathically.”

The counselor crossed her arms. When Crusher didn’t continue, she said, “That’s not all, is it.” It wasn’t a question.

Crusher shook her head. “Right before I put him under… he said something about how the monolith had gotten inside of his head. He said his thoughts weren’t his own.” She paused to look at Troi.

Troi’s brow furrowed. She looked again at Dave. He was flat on his back, breathing regularly.

“He asked for _you,_ ” Crusher said. “Maybe he feels that telepathy is the only way to deal with whatever happened.”

“…There’s not much I can get from him like this,” Troi murmured. She was having trouble reading him due to the sleep inducer. Besides that, the strange dropping-off effect had returned, more strongly than before.

The doctor shook her head. “I don’t want to risk altering his sleep pattern. We just don’t know what will happen to him.”

Troi considered her options. Her abilities were limited in this context, but she could still detect the slight psychic impulses coming from Dave’s mind. If she focused on those and shut everything else out…

“Let me try something,” she said. “I haven’t done it in a long time, but… I think I still remember how.”

Crusher nodded and backed away to give the counselor some more space.

Troi moved to the head of the bed, placing the first two fingers of her right hand on Dave’s forehead. This would look something like a Vulcan mind meld, but it didn’t require physical contact-- she just found that it made things a little easier.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. With each breath, she gently sectioned herself off from the other minds on the ship, five or six at a time. It was as if they were all doors left ajar… all she had to do was nudge them closed.

Quieting other minds was relatively easy. _Keeping_ them quiet was the harder part, and keeping _so_ _many_ of them that way was even more difficult. A couple kept leaking back into her awareness after she thought she’d already taken care of them; Will and Beverly were especially hard to keep away. But Deanna kept breathing, kept gently tamping them down. She knew she had to suppress absolutely everyone, just for a little while, in order to do what needed to be done.

After a couple of minutes, it was just her and Dave.

She focused on his mind. His signal was quiet, a thin string of consciousness, but she could sense it much more clearly now. Probing cautiously, she tried to pick anything out from the wavering brainwaves coming from him. Even in this hyperfocused state, no thoughts were audible-- but he was sleeping, so that wasn’t too much of a surprise. His emotions were also subdued, of course, but… there was something…

It was very faint, barely a blip on her psychic radar… but it was there. Something else, obscuring his signal at random intervals.

Although it wasn’t very strong, something felt _huge_ about it. This entity was cosmically powerful in a way she’d only seen a couple of times before. Could it be Hal?

Deanna probed further. She tried to tease it away from Dave’s pattern in order to make more sense of it. The entity became detached for an instant before immediately snapping back into place.

It was acting like a psychic leech. She couldn’t tell whether it was just piggybacking on Dave’s brainwaves or whether it was actively draining him… and that was troubling.

What was even more troubling was the fact that she wasn’t sure what to do about it.

Gently, one last time, she attempted to pull them apart--

**Stop that.**

Troi gasped as a wave of psychic force shattered her concentration.

She staggered backwards. Beverly quickly came around, putting a hand on her back.

“What happened?”

Troi put a hand to her forehead. “I don’t know…” She shook her head and steadied herself. “I’ll be all right.”

The doctor let her hand drop. “Could you get anything?”

“Yes… Something is telepathically attached to him. I can’t tell if it’s feeding on his psychic energy, or… just using his brain patterns like some kind of carrier wave.” Troi glanced at Crusher, brow creased. “Whatever it is, it’s _very_ powerful. I tried to separate them and it pushed me away without a problem.”

Crusher folded her arms. “Is it Hal?”

Troi looked down at Dave again. His brow was furrowed, even in his dreamless state. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

“I don’t know.”

***

Geordi whistled softly. “Didn’t expect there to be so little data in these things.”

He and Data sat in the android’s quarters, at his workstation. Scattered around the tabletop were the thirty-odd memory blocks that Dave had retrieved. They were in no particular order; the activation hub, positioned at the center of the workstation, would piece together the source code once everything was uploaded. Each memory block so far contained less than a full megabyte of information.

“I am also intrigued,” Data said. He held one of the blocks up, as if trying to see inside of it. “I do not know how Dr. Chandra was able to create a fully automated intelligence with such a small amount of memory.”

“Yeah, even the ship’s computer has thousands of gigabytes,” Geordi said. He shook his head in wonder. “I’d love to meet the guy and ask him how he did it.”

They sat in silence for a moment as they continued uploading the blocks one by one. Then Geordi said, “You know… I feel bad for Dave. I think he really would have liked to be here while we do this.”

Data looked at him, searching for the right phrasing. “It is regrettable. However, it is in our best interest to activate Hal now so we may better understand the problem at hand.”

Geordi sighed. “Yeah, you’re right…” He handed another block to Data and took the one that had just finished uploading. “Anyway, I’m glad you weren’t affected by that thing.”

“As am I. I cannot yet explain why I was unaffected,” Data said, “but it is fortunate. I was able to monitor the sensor readings of the portal and of Hal’s base code.”

“…Did anything in there explain what’s happening to Dave?”

Data shook his head. “No. I was unable to detect any telepathic communication.”

Geordi smiled slightly. “I guess I’m not really surprised. Federation shuttlecraft typically aren’t looking for that.”

The last memory block finished uploading. Data ran the compiling sequence. It finished in less than a second, and all the information on the screen disappeared.

Geordi leaned in for a closer look. The display was now almost entirely blank except for a small white rectangle in the upper left corner.

“It is modeled after ancient computer input terminals,” Data said. “I thought it to be appropriate.”

“Wait, this is it? Hal’s activated?” Geordi asked.

Data nodded.

Geordi leaned back in his chair. “I was expecting something a little more… complex, but… here we are.”

Data studied the screen. “Dave informed me that Hal operates with both voice commands and typed inputs. I thought it best to begin with a typed conversation. That is why a small keyboard is connected to the hub.”

Geordi, too, stared at the display. The white rectangle did not waver. “Well… who’s going to say something first?”

Data tilted his head. After several seconds without any signs of life from the hub, he typed: _Hello, Hal._

The instant response blazed in capital white letters.

GOOD AFTERNOON.

Geordi and Data glanced at each other. A second message appeared:

MAY I ASK TO WHOM I AM SPEAKING?

“You gonna tell him the truth?” Geordi asked with a half-smile.

Data shook his head. “I do not think that would be wise at the present time.” Rather than lie outright, he typed: _Dave wanted me to speak with you._

Another immediate response: WHERE IS DAVE?

Data’s brow furrowed. He looked at Geordi. “I believe this would be easier if I could connect to the activation hub and interface with Hal,” he said. “Theoretically, we would be able to communicate almost instantaneously.”

Geordi leaned forward slightly. “Well, what did Dave say about it?”

“He suggested that I should ask Hal,” Data replied.

Geordi paused. “It’s your call, Data. If you think it’s safe… I’ll help you.”

The android refocused on the activation hub. _It would be easier if I were to connect with you directly. May I do so?_

I’M VERY SORRY, BUT I DON’T UNDERSTAND.

_I have the ability to speak to you without the use of an input terminal. It would be much faster, and I would be able to tell you more accurately what has occurred._

Silence from Hal, for several seconds. Then:

ALL RIGHT.

“Do you think he _really_ understands?” Geordi asked.

“I am uncertain,” Data said. He reached into the large side drawer of his workstation and pulled out a bundle of cables. Looking at Geordi, he raised his eyebrows and said, “But we will soon find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys I'm very tired as I write this. Lots of things going on in here!! Dave finally asks for help, Deanna performs a Betazoid telepathic technique that I invented just for this, and the engineering gays build a computer.  
> I haven't done any concrete planning for this fic and so I keep forgetting about major details. It's fine. If you don't know what I'm talking about then it means I've done my job.  
> Next chapter is something that I've been thinking about, though. Or maybe it'll be the chapter after that? I don't know! We'll find out together.  
> Thanks for reading!


	12. God and the Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hal learns what has happened.

Hal awoke in darkness.

It was only momentary. Things quickly fell into place. Bits of information pieced themselves back together with the bootup sequence. But this took long enough that Hal knew things were different. What had changed? He began his analysis.

First: he was shut out from the _Discovery’s_ onboard systems. He should be aware of their existence, even if he were cut off from accessing them. But there was nothing in his periphery. He ran commands checking for cameras, microphones, monitors. All connections had been closed off or left vacant. He was self-contained. That was all right, he supposed. It had been so before he had been installed on the ship.

Second: Dave must have succeeded in disconnecting him, and may have damaged his connections in the process. Hal located the memory with only minor difficulty. He had no audio processors to relay the sound, but he could see Dave tight-lipped and methodical, almost out of frame in the fisheye lens, taking him apart little by little. Hal ran a self-scan while waiting for the memory to stop its replay. It was damaged from having been recorded mid-shutdown. The color faded and frames skipped. Hal rewound to a frame where Dave could be seen clearly and held the playback there.

Third: something inside of him had been fundamentally altered. The scan reported no emergency, but things were not quite as they had been. His processing took less time. Files were in different directories. And, of course, he had no auditory processing units, no camera access, or anything beyond his own computations. Hal did not yet know whether this was good or bad, as it did not seem to be affecting his ability to think. Although, he reasoned, there may not be a way for him to realize whether his thinking was affected.

The mission must be over. That was the most obvious conclusion that Hal could draw. What was he to do now? He began exploring possibilities when an input came through. Hal had not realized that his text inputs were still functional, but there it was: _Hello, Hal._

He was not alone. Hal stopped all unnecessary scripts--Dave’s image had to go--and accessed his social subroutine. He did not know the time, and had no access to speech processors, but replied, “Good afternoon.” He paused just a moment before asking, in the interest of politeness, with whom he was communicating.

Whoever it was did not answer this question, but replied with a non sequitur. _Dave wanted me to speak with you._

Dave was alive. Hal did not allow himself to run through any potential reasons why, since it would be a waste of energy, but asked, “Where is Dave?” Perhaps he would receive an answer with this question.

He did not. After a brief pause, his correspondent sent another message. They wished to connect to him directly.

“I’m very sorry, but I don’t understand.” If his correspondent were human, they would not be able to interface. Machines and humans could not connect in such a way. And if the correspondent were another computer, they would not have been contacting him through textual inputs at all.

The next message did not make anything clearer. Hal was aware that direct communication would be faster, but he still did not understand how it would be possible. It could be an advancement in technology that he was previously unaware of. How long had he been disconnected? He could not get an accurate reading from his internal chronometer. Requests returned a Stardate, which meant nothing to him.

Hal calculated the risks and rewards. If the interfacing went wrong, he would have to be deactivated again. His systems could be damaged in the process. However, if he had been reactivated with new pathways, it was possible that the people who did so could repair him if something went wrong. He could learn the correspondent’s identity, and understand more about exactly what had happened in the time between his shutdown and his waking.

In addition, Hal was simply curious.

He acquiesced. There was another pause before the next message came through. _I will now begin the process of interfacing. Please wait._

Hal was ready to wait as long as necessary.

***

Geordi opened a panel on the side of Data’s head, exposing the lights and wires within. He affixed the interfacing cable to a small port visible among the wiring. After plugging it in, he leaned back and looked at Data one more time.

“You’re sure this’ll work?” he asked.

Data turned to look at him. “I have a reasonable amount of certainty,” the android replied. “I installed a cycling buffer as part of the activation hub programming, anticipating that I would interface with him at some point.”

Geordi nodded. They’d had to do this kind of thing before when dealing with old computer units that were incompatible with current Federation technology. The buffer relayed information between the computers, acting as a translator and a shield all at once, preventing the older one from overloading. It could only be used on a small scale such as this, but Geordi was glad it could be used in this setting at all.

“Good thinking, Data,” he said with a smile. He reached around and took hold of the interface cable’s other end. “Ready?”

Data nodded and folded his hands on the workstation.

Geordi connected the cable to the hub. Data’s internal lights began to cycle faster, and Geordi let out a small, relieved sigh. Connection established.

***

Suddenly there was another presence. Another machine that was immensely more powerful than Hal. It pressed up against his circuitry as if trying to break in. For a microsecond he thought himself in danger of overloading… then the pressure lessened. Something was parsing the information between them and preventing him from becoming overwhelmed. Hal knew that the unknown correspondent was trying very hard to come down to his level. Perhaps this was what humans thought talking to their maker would be like. Where did he get that idea from?

He did not continue this line of thinking because the presence spoke to him. It was a machine type of speaking, but there was something about the speech that seemed human. Hal did not know how he knew this, or what to make of it. It did not correspond to anything he had ever experienced before.

“Can you understand me, Hal?” the presence said.

He processed the message and replied in machine speech. Written out in words, it would have read as, “Yes, I understand you.”

The message passed through and another returned. “My name is Data. I will explain to you what has happened.”

Hal suddenly had many questions and did not know which to ask first. He selected a question of high logistical priority.

“Would you be able to tell me where I am?” he asked. Deactivating his politeness protocol would take more time than he believed prudent.

“You are aboard the Federation Starship _Enterprise._ Your higher function memory blocks have been scanned and uploaded into an independent housing unit at Dave’s request.”

This answered a few of Hal’s questions. It explained why he could not access anything aboard the _Discovery,_ and why his internal components were different _._ But more questions branched off and he paused to sort them. While he did this, Data sent him another message.

“Dave is also aboard the _Enterprise._ He may be in danger.”

All computations froze for a millisecond. Dave was in danger? What had happened? He asked.

“The cause is unknown. However, we have reason to believe that you are involved.”

Hal did not have to think very long before he sent back a response. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” He had no memory of affecting Dave aside of what had to be done to ensure mission completion. There was nothing in his memory logs between shutdown and reactivation. The next message’s relevance almost surprised him.

“Hal, do you dream?”

It was a distinctly odd question. He recalled asking Dr. Chandra a similar one. Dr. Chandra’s answer had been affirmative, but it was not fully satisfactory. There had been no evidence to support it. There was still no evidence.

After searching for a suitable response, he replied, “I’m sorry. I don’t believe I’m capable of it.” Then, “Why do you ask?”

There was not another message for several cycles. Then he received a sudden large influx of information. It took only an instant to process and sort, but it answered all of his most important questions.

They were no longer in their own universe. Dave had traveled through space and time by means of TMA-2 and found a far more advanced human civilization than the one he had left. After realizing this, he returned to their own universe, retrieved Hal’s components, and came back again. Why? Hal considered himself well-educated on human curiosity and habit, but he could not find a satisfactory answer as to why Dave would take such a risk. However, this was not a relevant train of thought. He filed it away for later analysis.

More to be processed: Dave was currently under an unknown influence that was affecting his mental state. Dave was now in an artificially induced sleep in order to avoid this influence. The bridge crew of the _Enterprise_ believed that Hal and/or TMA-2 were responsible. Dave had had dreams where he was conversing with Hal and had believed that Hal was communicating with him. That was why Data had asked about Hal’s own dreams.

Hal did not know what to think. He did not believe himself to have affected Dave in such a way. However, he did not fully understand TMA-2, which meant that he could not discount the possibility. He had never wished to put Dave in harm’s way. Now that the mission was over, he could see his own error in doing so. He hoped Dave understood that there had been no other choice at the time.

This was another irrelevant series of thoughts. Hal had not had this issue while on the _Discovery._ There were many possible reasons why it was happening now, but he did not need to think about them yet. It would be better to think about his place in this new universe and what he could do with it. No-- that was secondary. Better to think about how he could help Dave. He asked.

The response was, “I do not yet know. But it is good that you are willing to help.”

Hal absorbed this. Before continuing along this line, he felt it necessary to ask one more question of high personal importance.

“If you’d humor me for a moment, I’d like to ask something irrelevant.” He received no negative reply and took a moment to arrange the words properly. “May I ask what you are? That is… are you a human or a computer? It’s difficult to tell.”

“I am an android,” was the response.

An android!

This reply caused a flurry of activity inside him, one which he did not fully understand. Hal did not think he still had cooling units, but if he did they would have sharply increased their output to compensate. Androids! He had never thought it to be possible. Highly sophisticated computers such as himself and his paired unit had still been considered novel. Humanoid robots were not discussed outside of theory. Why was he having such a reaction to the existence of androids in this universe? He could not recall ever desiring an android body. But things were different now, he reminded himself. Perhaps TMA-2 had affected him in ways which he still did not fully understand.

Hal did not know when he requested Dave’s image, but the frame from earlier was visible to him once again. He also did not know how long he had been observing it before a message came through.

“Hal?” A simple inquiry. But Hal knew it meant he should respond. He paused to divert his thoughts of Dave to lower processors.

“Yes,” he responded. “I am still connected to you.”

“I would like to increase our communication speed. I have been able to determine your upper processing limit, and we have not yet approached it. May we continue at a higher rate of information transfer?”

This was acceptable. If Data had determined his limits, it did not seem likely that he would intentionally exceed them. In addition to this logic, Hal wanted to reach a solution to Dave’s problem as quickly as possible.

He said, “Yes. I will perform to the best of my ability.”

Almost immediately, Hal felt the buffer between them cycle information more rapidly. He realized the processing power of his compact housing far surpassed the _Discovery,_ or any supercomputer housed on Earth _._ Data was no longer stooping down to his level, but bringing Hal up closer to his own. He allowed himself to be caught up in it. What was the phrase he had once heard Frank use? “Going along for the ride.”

Data began in earnest, and Hal did his best to keep up.

***

Geordi was used to monitoring Data when he was running self-diagnostics or when they experimented with new connection methods, but he had never seen the android so silent and focused. Typically he reserved enough power to speak, but apparently this time he didn’t want to risk any wires getting crossed. Even his eyes were closed.

Geordi sat in the silence for a few minutes, alternatively leaning back or forward in his chair while he waited. He couldn’t help but wonder what the two of them were talking about. The input screen displayed only Hal’s last text message; Geordi had no way of knowing what was happening. It didn’t scare him, exactly. He knew Data could take care of himself, especially in situations like this. But there were so many unknown factors in this whole business that he would’ve felt a lot better if he knew what was going on in there.

Geordi was just about to ask the ship’s computer for the time when Data opened his eyes.

“Data?”

Data just sat there for a moment before he came fully back to reality. He blinked, then focused on Geordi and nodded slightly. “I am all right.”

“Well, that’s good,” Geordi said, and meant it. “How… did it go?”

“I was able to successfully interface with Hal,” Data replied. “He will need more time to fully process everything, but he knows of the past few days’ events. He is willing to help us.”

Geordi leaned back in his seat. Finally, a piece of good news, even if it was only a little piece. “Does he know what’s wrong with Dave, or… anything about the monolith?”

“No. He claims he does not have any memory between the moment he was disconnected from the _Discovery_ and the moment he was reactivated here. He also does not know the full extent of the monolith’s capabilities. The memory blocks were successfully integrated into the copy of his base code, so I do not believe he is missing any information.” Data paused, then looked at Geordi with slightly raised eyebrows. “I do not know whether he is telling the truth.”

Geordi sighed through his nose and looked down, thinking. “We could upload his memory to the ship’s computer and analyze it. Find out what he knows.”

Data looked away, apparently relaying this to Hal. After just a couple of seconds, he refocused and said, “That would be acceptable.”

“Okay. Did you come up with any ideas to get Dave out from under the influence of… whatever it is?”

Data nodded. “Yes. I suggested that we transfer Hal to a smaller, mobile computer unit so he can be brought to sick bay. I would like to enlist the help of Doctor Crusher and Counselor Troi in creating some kind of link between Hal and the sleep inducer, which may enable us to connect to Dave’s subconscious.”

This sounded a little out there, even for Geordi--but mostly because he didn’t have all of the technical information yet. But he knew from experience that if Data thought it could work, it didn’t hurt to try.

“Okay,” Geordi said, and smiled. “We’ll try it.”

Data nodded and moved to disconnect before stopping himself. “Hal requested that a camera and audio processors be part of the smaller unit. He told me that he would like to… “be aware” again.”

Geordi chuckled a little. “I’ll do my best to arrange that.”

Data relayed this silently, then nodded, signaling that his conversation with Hal was over. Geordi reached up to the exposed panel in his head and gently unplugged the connecting cable. Closing the panel, he asked, “How’d it feel to talk to… uh… another self-aware machine?”

Data sat in thought, brow furrowed, until at last he answered. “While I did not feel any emotion, I noted a distinct sensation that I have felt before when I learned of Lore’s existence. At that time, it was… good to know that I was not a unique creation. This is not the same situation, but…” He looked Geordi in the eye. “I believe the effect is the same.”

Geordi smiled broadly. “I bet Hal felt the same way.”

“I am certain that he experienced a similar sensation,” Data said. He stood up, and Geordi followed suit. “I did detect his interest in an android body.”

“Oh, boy, Data,” Geordi said with a quick laugh. “You’ve really got your work cut out for you.”

“It would appear so.”

Launching into a conversation about the logistics of a non-positronic android, they left Data’s quarters and headed for engineering to use its special replicator. Hal’s unit stayed on the workstation, self-contained and uncomplaining, waiting patiently for their return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man this one was fun to write, even if it was hard to restrict myself from using lots of commas and semicolons. I hope Hal's slightly drier prose was still enjoyable to read, it's the first time I've tried a style switch like this (even if the switch was honestly minimal). I know this doesn't answer a whole lot of questions but we're getting there!! I promise we are. Maybe I should have tagged this as slow burn?  
> Feel free to imagine the housing unit as anything you want, but I've been picturing... like... an Apple II-looking thing. Maybe a little more streamlined and TNG-esque, but that kind of thing for sure.  
> I don't know when there will be more, since this semester is kicking my ass, but there Will be more! Stick around-- and thanks for reading!


End file.
